Rising from the Ashes
by Villain
Summary: FINISHED- With no hope in sight, Ron and Harry find themselves trapped in Malfoy Manor, seperated and exposed to the evil within. SLASH: TH, LR, DR, TR
1. A Rock and a Soft Place

A/N: Hiya, folks!! I can't help it, my muses were in a twisted D/R mood, so I had to comply. *grin* So anyway, this fic is going to be as dark as ickle me can make it, since I have a whole bunch of trouble with keeping my writing serious and on the ball. *pause* That sounded kinky. ANYWAY!! It's sad, so I don't reccomend (sp?) reading it if you're sad, for it would be bad, and I would be mad, if you stayed sad..... O_o And THAT, my friends, is why I stick mainly to comedy writing. You can be shameless with no consequences. Hee. Enjoy.  
  
Chapter One: Between a Rock and a Soft Place  
  
"No! Sirius, please-"  
  
The older wizard shoved him away, bravely holding back tears even as the blood flowed past in thickening rivulets.  
  
"Harry," he coughed hoarsely, flecking his already crimson lips with fresh blood, "Go with Ron."  
  
"No, I won't leave you," Harry whispered into Sirius' hair, clinging to him as if he were his life force. An explosion rocked a tree nearby and Sirius flinched when a rock struck his bruised cheek.  
  
"Ron, take him, quickly." Sirius lifted his shredded lips to give his Godson one last kiss before Ron ripped him away, missing a volley of debris that completely covered Sirius. Harry cried out, fighting Ron with blood stained hands, tears streaking the red on his face.  
  
Noise roared around the two boys as they stumbled away from the carnage. The sky above the hundreds of witches and wizards stormed and turned in an angry rage. Wind whipped at the remaining trees and ice rain pelted them in stinging blows, stabbing at their eyes.  
  
Ron dragged Harry along, limp and weakly fighting his hold. The green eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, were brimming with tears and screaming in silence. He ground his teeth together, scraping at Ron's hands with mutilated fingers, slicked with blood.  
  
"Stop it, Harry," Ron whispered, stumbling into the smoking ministry building, strewn with bodies, both fresh and old. The redhead's stomach clenched when he saw the fingers of a young woman reaching for another body, that of a little girl. He turned his wet eyes away, clenching his jaw in pain.  
  
They made it to the place Ron had been warned of. The only place where Harry could be safe. He must keep Harry safe.  
  
Blood bubbled up over his lips and seared through the air as Harry sobbed again, retching, hands scratching the floor, cries hysterical. Ron held him up as he vomited up the contents of his empty stomach, ribs heaving under the nearly translucent white of his skin. Blotches of dirt and grime clung to his flesh and Ron wiped at a streak of blood while his friend curled up in his lap, eyes the only vivid and beautiful color in the place.  
  
Ron wiped at Harry's brow, looking mournfully at the pile of rubble covering the secret door he needed to get to. If he didn't, Harry would undoubtedly be found and killed.  
  
Laying Harry's head gently on the pieces of stone and wood that used to make up a wall, Ron limped over to the pile of rubble and began pushing and pulling at the loosely piled rocks, further slicing his swollen purple fingers.  
  
Finally he managed to uncover a ragged rug depicting the scene of a wizard looking up at a star and raising his staff to it as if in salute. Ron shoved it aside roughly and yanked at the iron handle that would open the door. He did it, whimpering at the stinging of his hands and the needling heat of his infected cuts and burns.  
  
Harry was nearly out cold when Ron threw his arm over his shoulder and scooped up Harry's legs. On tottery feet he carried the shrunken boy, trying desperately to ignore the blood squirting from the scar standing out vividly on the sickly pale surface of Harry's forehead. Down the wooden stairs he went, nearly tripping and crying out in both pain and frustration as his teeth went through his tongue, filling his mouth with the hot coppery taste of his own blood.  
  
He tried to breathe through his nose, but it had been stopped up by clotted blood for a time and he ended up spewing blood all over Harry's front trying to breathe through his mouth. The boy opened his emerald eyes fleetingly, blinking and sending tears sprinkling down his cheeks. Ron looked at this and shushed his friend when Harry made a small sound.  
  
At the end of the stairs was another door. Ron's legs gave out in a buckling wave of pain and he nearly dropped Harry, crumpling to the ground in a heap with the smaller boy resting over him at a sideways angle, eyes staring dully into his, clouded in exhaustion.  
  
"I have you, Harry," he soothed in a cracked and dry voice scraping its way through his crackling throat. Distractedly he brushed at a thin, but deep cut along his throat, feeling a sticky substance thicker than blood oozing out of it. Growling, he slung Harry's arm over his shoulder again and stood, his muscles screaming in torture, to push open the door.  
  
Stumbling in, he fell to his knees in the middle of the tiny circular room, eyes crusted with blood, lips chapped and shredded to ribbons of crimson, cheeks pale and bruised, fingers numb and swollen, body covered in wounds oozing both fresh blood and yellow pus.  
  
Harry lay halfway in his lap, in even worse state than Ron was. He has lost his shirt, uncovering the skeletal remains of his once healthy body. Weeks ago the scar had taken over Harry Potter, the evil power within breaking free inside of him and tormenting the way he thought and acted, like a vile parasite eating away at him from the inside.  
  
Ron played his fingers over the sharply jutting ribs, a new worry taking seed in his mind. What if the scar killed Harry?  
  
There was a sound in front of Ron and his head snapped up, fuzzy eyes skimming the room, lashes caked with blood and bent down over his gaze, not allowing him to fully open his eyes. He reached out tentatively before him and groped the air with fingers that would not unfurl all the way. The muscles in his arms creaked with the movement, and Harry stirred at his side, arching in a spasm of pain.   
  
Suddenly Harry was lifted roughly into the air by his limp arm. Ron cried out hoarsely and scrambled to his knees, scratching at his eyes with one hand to see and reaching for Harry with the other.  
  
When he finally managed to open his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of four Death Eaters standing in a row in front of him, one with their wand pointed right at his face. His frightened eyes wandered past the line of black cloaked figures to fall on two others holding Harry between them like a limp marionette. He hung from their grasp by his arms, resting on his knees, head bowed down before him, almost touching the ground. A small puddle of drool was forming below his face, dripping in a mixture of fresh blood.  
  
"Let go of him," he rasped, grasping at hands that came down to grip the collar of his shredded shirt.  
  
"Or you'll do what exactly, boy?"  
  
He knew that voice. Struggling to focus his fading gaze, Ron looked up into the dark hood bent toward him. The face peering back was a familiar one. A long face, almost gaunt in its sharp beauty, as if carved from ice.  
  
"Malfoy," he hissed, coughing weakly as the man threw him to the ground, shoving a dragon hyde boot onto his throat.  
  
"Weasly," the man sneered in return, digging his heel into Ron's neck, tearing the long cut there and reopening the stream of blood and pus.  
  
"I - I won't let you take him."  
  
Lucius Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, sleet gray eyes dancing with evil mirth. "Oh really?" He lifted his foot from Ron's neck, resting his toe under the boy's chin and lifting it until Ron had climbed to his knees again. Red hair slid back and brushed the long white neck as his face was upturned to stare into the piercing eyes of Lucius.  
  
"What will you do, boy?"  
  
"I'll not let you take him," he said through clenched teeth, a deadly anger fueling his energy. "I made a promise to Sirius, and I won't let him down."  
  
"Dirt making promises to low life criminals. What does it mean to me?"  
  
Ron ignored this comment, yanking his chin away from Lucius' boot and turning in Harry's direction.  
  
"You'll have to kill me to take him," he yelled brokenly, crawling towards his immobile friend, tears running down his face anew.  
  
"Gladly."  
  
Lucius swept his hand through the air where it met Ron's face with a resounding slap, sending the boy sprawling.  
  
"Yet muggle loving scum like you almost do not deserve so just a punishment as death." A cruel smile played over the thin lips. "No, death is too good for the likes of you, Weasly."  
  
He turned around and waved at the men holding Harry. They began to drag the boy away, his bare feet scraping over the stone on the floor. Ron made to go after him, weak as he was, but was stopped by Lucius' iron grip on the back of his neck. He thrashed and twisted like a feral cat, but Lucius merely threw him to the ground again and pointed his wand at him. That cruel smile was back again, reaching deep into his eyes where the most savage hate resided. Ron sat up on his elbows, looking Malfoy straight in the eyes with a silent plea.  
  
Don't do it, his eyes cried.  
  
"To think I finally have a Weasel cornered," Lucius drawled, coming closer to Ron and squatting down next to him, the wand in his hand never wavering. "Harry Potter's sidekick no less." He ran a clean white finger over Ron's soiled cheek, smiling as his sharp curved nail glided over a soft bruise, slicing the skin open like fruit.  
  
Ron winced, but did not break their gaze. If he had to go down by Lucius' hand, he would go down looking into the raw hatred and cruelty of those haunting eyes. For his mother, his father, and his siblings, he would go down with honor.  
  
"Such a proud young boy," Lucius whispered against his cheek, running his hot tongue over the fresh cut made by his nail. Ron stiffened.  
  
"I know just what to do with you," he continued, grabbing Ron's chin and forcing his face to the side, craning his neck to its breaking point. Ron shifted, but Lucius stopped him from moving any further, enjoying the slow pain in the boy's eyes as his neck screamed in protest.  
  
"What-"   
  
Lucius stopped the boy's speech by pressing his lips to Ron's, sweeping his tongue over the swollen lower lip and delving it inside to taste the copper blood off the boy's tongue, and sample the thick fear off his quivering lips. His hands went to Ron's back, pulling him up into his lap, straddling his hips. Ron tried to push away, his eyes suddenly alive and wild with fear, but Lucius snatched his hands away roughly, pinning them to the floor beside them and forcing Ron to bend. With his slender wrists pinned, he glanced sidelong back at the smirking face coming closer to his, drawing that hot tongue again over his lips and teeth.  
  
"Such a beautiful boy," Lucius whispered, pressing against the small of Ron's back and forcing him to arch into his chest with a weak cry.  
  
There was still defiance lingering in boy's eyes and Lucius found it delicious. He lapped wetly at the blood caked lashes, wiping them clean, and snaked his hand up underneath the soiled shirt Ron wore. The boy gasped, shaking his head from side to side, trying to move away from the cold hands hovering over his flushed skin.  
  
"Lucius." The voice sliced through the air like a dagger through flesh. Lucius drew back from Ron, his lips dotted with the boy's blood, harboring the expression of a sated cat. Ron looked beyond dully and saw a clouded figure standing in the circular doorway, robed in deep black, shrunken and small.  
  
"My lord," Lucius said smoothly, rising to his feet, still grasping Ron's wrists in a painfully tight grip. Ron stood beside him, nearly hanging from his hands, the one wounded leg throbbing like mad and resting out from him at a strange angle.  
  
"You have not the time for this boy here. Either kill him or do otherwise."  
  
"I think it would be wise to keep him alive, my lord."  
  
"Why so?"  
  
"This boy here is the youngest male Weasly; Potter's best friend."  
  
"I see, Lucius," the voice said, breaking into a quiet, high-pitched laugh that slithered through the air to sting at Ron' ears. "Good, good!"  
  
The figure approached him, putting its horrid white face so that it was nearly touching Ron's. It was then he realized that he was standing less than a foot away from the wizard behind the deaths of so many.  
  
"Voldemort," he choked out, shrinking back from the beast in a rising fear and awe. He tried to drag his hands free, but Lucius jerked him back, stumbling forward. Falling again to his knees, Ron looked up, petrified, into the blaring white face, into the red slits for eyes of the Dark Lord Voldemort.  
  
"Harry Potter's closest companion," the Dark Lord hissed in a sarcastic tone. "His truest friend until the very end." He smiled, lipless mouth curving sharply as if the corners were drawn up by string. "And the end is very near, my young one."  
  
He cupped Ron's face and the young wizard felt an impossible fear racking at his body, sending tremors of fright spiraling down his spine. A ball of lead dropped in his stomach as the clawed thumb trailed over his lips, resting against them and moistening in the hot breath issuing from the bloodied mouth in quick gasps.  
  
"You are a valuable tool, boy," the Dark Lord informed him. Then he gave Lucius a long look that said much, and slithered from the room.  
  
Alone again with Lucius, Ron's legs gave out and he crashed to the floor, elbows cracking on the stone. Lucius watched him in disgust.  
  
"You are weak in the shadow of such power," he admonished harshly, cuffing Ron on the ear and smiling when the boy cried out sharply.  
  
"Why don't you just kill me!" Ron begged, still twisting his wrists vainly to get free. Lucius lifted him slightly, smiling when the boy's bones snapped under his pressuring grip and Ron went completely limp with pain.  
  
"Oh no," he soothed, wrapping an arm around Ron's back and lifting him so that the shaking mouth brushed his, "Our fun is only just beginning."  
  
With those words he crushed his lips to Ron's, shoving the boy's head painfully back and capturing the sweet tongue between his teeth. His wand speared into Ron's stomach and Lucius moaned against the wet and bleeding mouth.....   
  
"Crucio."  
  
~*~  
  
Gray light filtered in through a tiny hole in the wall of thick stone. Ron stood on his tiptoes and tried to gasp a breath of fresh air, digging his fingers into the muddy hand holds he had dug for himself in the thick moss of the dungeon wall.  
  
Splashing slightly in the puddle of rain water, Ron limped toward the door where his meal had just been pushed in through the bars. He squatted down by the food, scooping it up with his bare hands and eating ravenously under the scrutinizing gaze of the grisly house elf.  
  
"Young master is hungry today," the elf commented idly, taking the plate back through the bars with a nod and wrinkling his pug nose at Ron licking his fingers free of any remaining juices.  
  
"It's been nearly three days hasn't it?" Ron asked him, leaning against the door of his cell, scratching the side of his nose with his thumb.  
  
The elf looked down each of the three passages leading from Ron's cell to see if anyone else was about. Then he looked back at Ron with glittering eyes and shoved something through the bars of the cell, hissing, "In case Master forgets to feed his prisoner again." Then the squat elf hurried away without another look back.  
  
Ron stared down at the bumpy lump of bread in his hands with a small smile. These days he had so little to smile about. This bread was like.... well, food to a starving prisoner.  
  
He barely remembered how long it had been since he had arrived here, and even that painful event was cloudy. Could be days, could be weeks. Maybe not months, certainly not years. His eyes went to the markings on the walls; small carvings in the moss and slime where his dull nails had dug.  
  
At first he had tried keeping track of the days going by in the Malfoy dungeons. But he soon gave up after one of Lucius' numerous visits. The man had noticed the marks and wiped them away angrily. Ron shivered at the memory of Lucius' hands on him as the Crucio spell swam through his blood like stinging poison.  
  
Lucius was the only person Ron ever saw. Anyone else were either house elves or wandering spirits who never took the time to talk to him. It was odd, especially for Ron who had been surrounded by chatty people all his life.  
  
Well, Harry was never very chatty.  
  
The thought of his friend made Ron suddenly very sad. He spent most of his time replaying that day when Harry was taken from him, wondering if maybe there was a chance his friend was still alive somewhere. Maybe even safe.  
  
Depression had been fast to take over him, nearly drowning him. But it was doused by a sort of grim acceptance. He was captured. Everyone else was either dead, lost, or the same as he was. Why think about things like that?  
  
So he spent the days talking with himself, or the house elves that were sent to check up on him. He had won most of them over, rewarded by extra food and company. There were still some, though, who would whimper and cower at his voice, frightened of the possibility that Lucius may be watching them from within the very walls.  
  
Days, or maybe hours later, Ron roused at the sound of someone coming down the hall. He quickly hid the lumpy bread away, taking one last nibble before sticking it with the rest of his store up on a tiny ledge above the barred door. Dropping down from climbing the bars to reach his hiding place, Ron backed into the middle of the room, standing straight and tall. Then he steeled himself for Lucius. The man had not been to see him in almost two days, as far as Ron could keep track by the rising and setting of the sun. All he knew was that Lucius was long over due on one of his visits, which meant one of two things: Could be he was out raiding and has come back in a drunken stupor. These proved to be the worst times for him to remember the little redhead he had stored down in his dungeons. For Lucius Malfoy did not grow dull or stupid when he drank, he became a whole new animal, more conniving and violent than the man he usually was.  
  
At the chilling thought, Ron shivered. But he shook it off, throwing back his shoulders and lifting his chin proudly. May Malfoy never see him weak.  
  
Really he shouldnÕt be frightened until Lucius arrived. For if the man was not drunk, or angry, or.... himself, he may come to just hold Ron as he had done maybe twice since the boy had been captured. Yet those visits scared Ron worse than any rage, or drunken cruelty. To feel the mild warmth of the man's torso, and his cold hands merely holding Ron still while he lay his head in the crook of the boy's neck. As if he were his son.  
  
Or his lover.  
  
Stop it! Ron bit his lip, angry with himself for thinking such things. Lucius Malfoy was an odd man, a monster. But he would never take on a minor as a lover. Ron paused in his thoughts. Or would he? No, certainly not with a Weasly. Though there was something he had said on his last visit right before he left, when his hands had pinned Ron to the floor.  
  
'Such a gift you'll make.'  
  
Ron hadn't gotten a chance to inquire further, not that he ever really spoke to Lucius, except to cry out, or moan. Sometimes he would curse the man, but it was a dangerous risk to do, so usually he just closed his eyes and bit his tongue. Yet Lucius was sure to always do *that* for him.  
  
He was so lost in his thoughts that when the door to his cell opened, Ron didn't even move. Movement did indeed come though when a darkly cloaked figure approached him and stopped about half a foot from where he stood.  
  
"So used to living in poor conditions, you can't even feel the cold, Weasel," sneered a voice that brought Ron back to reality as swiftly as a rock from the air.  
  
He blinked, lips parting slightly in mutual surprise and an instinctual anger. Taking two giant steps back, and nearly stumbling on his bum leg, Ron winced upon the back of his head striking the wall, and gaped at the willowy figure that had just lowered the vast hood of its cloak.  
  
Hair as fine and white as the mist of clouds shown in the dim torch light. Spears of light glittered within the frozen depths of silver, eyes like twin points of light through smoky darkness. A smile as sharp as a fresh dagger blade sliced up into his eyes, sending more glimmers of light to shoot through them. The distortedly angelic face smirked as a whole while the long slender arms came up to cross, tapered waist curving when the tiny hips cocked to the side.  
  
"You were born with an attitude, Malfoy," Ron hissed, fists unconsciously clenching.  
  
Draco chuckled coldly, eyes piercing into Ron as he looked the redhead over skeptically, walking a little ways around him, stopping when he stood a little off to the left. Ron turned his head, uttering a low hiss as his neck screamed in protest. Draco smiled, he knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
"Your neck bothering you, then?" His eyes trailed down Ron's chest and his smirk grew. "Perhaps I was mistaken. You *are* cold."  
  
Glaring hotly, Ron crossed his arms over his chest and moved away from the shorter boy, repulsed by this situation. Draco was squeaky clean in fine robes beneath the even finer cloak he wore. Ron couldn't help but flush deeply at what he must look like: Bedraggled, even more gangly with the loss of weight, greasy tendrils of hair nearly dreadlocked and hanging into his animalistic eyes driven by hunger and fear, skin blotched with dirt and grime, though cleaned of cuts and healed of bruises.  
  
Next to the blonde bastard Ron would look like a rat dipped in sewage.  
  
Dammit. This wasn't good. Oh yes, not to mention that he was practically at his worst enemy's mercy. He had almost totally forgotten Draco's existence. He had not seen or heard from the other wizard for two years. The last time had been at graduation when Ron had gotten his diploma in wizardry. He had raised his eyes to see Harry's exuberant face, Hermione bawling into the dark haired boy's shoulder, his family with the other families cheering him on.   
  
Than Malfoy.  
  
Draco Malfoy who had graduated with honors. His eyes were fixed on Ron with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met and Draco's turned to look back at Ron's family before coming back to rest on his. His look had changed then, eyes becoming panes of glass. Then he had smiled. It was an odd, empty smile, and Ron found himself captivated by it.  
  
When he had taken his seat, Ron had found his gaze tugged at again. He look up to meet Draco's eyes. This time the boy look angry, twin points of red beating at the tops of his cheekbones, mouth turned down in a sharp scowl. Ron had blinked at him, a little surprised. Then Draco had held up his hand, so that only Ron could see. Resting on his palm was what looked like a tiny weasel, wrapped in chains. Ron leaned a little closer to see clearer, taking in the vibrant red color of the weasel's fur.  
  
Same color as my hair, he had thought.  
  
Draco had smiled at him, and closed his hand to crush the tiny weasel in a puff of smoke.  
  
Now in the Malfoy dungeons facing Draco, the little chained weasel came back to haunt Ron. Harry often told him that Draco was just jealous of Ron and his loving family. Hermione had told him she heard that Draco and his father never showed any emotion to each other, that they treated each other like cold acquaintances.  
  
There *was* jealousy in those cold silver eyes as Draco stood before him now, pale face turned up a little to look Ron straight in the eyes.  
  
"What do you want with me, Malfoy?" Ron asked softly, his voice filled with venom, his eyes filled with fear he struggled to hide.  
  
Draco looked as if he wanted to laugh, but he instead composed himself and said regally, "Whatever do you mean, Weasel?"  
  
"Don't play your games with me, Malfoy," Ron warned, pushing away from the wall to get right in Draco's face. The other wizard grinned nastily and fell back a step.  
  
"Let's hope you can clean up a bit, even though on *you* Weasly, magic can only do so much."  
  
"Why do you have me here?"  
  
"Why not? I suppose you would rather be here than dead."  
  
"You'll have to give me time to think about that one."  
  
Draco's smile disappeared. "Don't push me, Weasel. I have the power to kill you right here and now. I don't think you realized that, did you? Don't think for an instant that I'll show you mercy like my father has. Actually, I've been waiting for just an opportunity such as this one to arise so that I may perfect my Unforgivable." His grinned turned wolfish. "For instance," he drawled lazily, flicking his wand in Ron's direction and saying clearly, "Imperio."  
  
Ron gasped as he felt himself drift among clouds of feathers. A feeling of utter calmness overtook him and he dizzily heard a muffled voice above him.  
  
"Ron, get on your knees before me."  
  
He abided in bliss, sliding over to Draco and raising his eyes, unfocussed and fogged with the spell. He fleetingly shut his eyes as a hand cupped the side of his face and titled his head back all the way so that he looked straight up into the ceiling. Then Draco ordered he part his lips. Ron did so, and numbly his mouth complied as Draco's lips caressed his, tongue delving into the wet cavern of his mouth and gently sliding along the ribs on the roof inside.  
  
But the blissful cloud dissipated beneath him and Ron fell back to the cold dungeon, eyes snapping to focus as cold fingers began to push him backwards.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" he demanded, shoving Draco away. The other boy's eyes widened in surprise before narrowing into burning slits of ice.  
  
"You resisted the spell," he said flatly. "Potter must've rubbed off on you after all these years."  
  
Ron wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, cheeks burning, eyes blazing. He scooted backwards away from Draco, watching the former Slytherin closely. A whole new fear had started up in him. That touch had felt too much like Lucius', too much like a bloody block of ice. Too able of inflicting serious damage to his broken form.  
  
"D-don't touch me," Ron stuttered, his back pressing against the wall again. He shoved the back of his head into the coarse moss, eyes wide as Draco knelt down right in front of him, tiny hands resting on either side of his legs, face nearly up against his own.  
  
"I can do whatever I want to you now, Ron."  
  
The sound of his own name dropping like poison from those pale lips made Ron wince and turn his face away. He knew he was helpless. If he took a swing at Malfoy, he would never make it past the first punch.  
  
"Look at me, Weasel," Draco demanded softly, taking Ron's chin in his fingers and forcing his face back to his own. "Ron, open your eyes."  
  
Ron lifted his thick red lashes, blinking slightly as he realized how close the blonde wizard was to him. He shifted uncomfortably, flinching when his nose brushed Draco's.  
  
"I can make this easier on you, Ron," Draco whispered, lowering his lips to Ron's collarbone and sucking gently. He licked up his neck, lapping at the lips which were frozen shut. "You only need to give me one thing, Ron, and you will no longer dwell in this horrible place down hear, and no longer will my father come to you."  
  
Ron looked up.  
  
"All you have to do is give the word."  
  
He worried his lower lip. "Give the word that will what?"  
  
Draco breathed against his mouth, moving closer to Ron and grinding his hips into the redhead's, shoving him hard against the wall. "Give the word.... and you will be mine."  
  
0-o *tingles* Oooooh.  
  
A/N: *giggles* Typical side effect of an authoress on heavy hyporization; the evil cliffhanger. Hee. I'm so mean, I know. I revel in it, hee hee hee! *waves* Next chappie will be out really soon, I think! *shifty eyes* Maybe, even though finals are coming up, therefor that means extra practice, homework, and the test results looming over me.  
  
*thoroughly de-hypernized*  
  
Well, those are pleasant thoughts. *mopes about* I guess I'm in a morbid enough mood to write another dark chapter. *brightens up* Yay! Au revior!!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	2. A Dream Come True

A/N: THANX TO...  
**Mare: Thank you and good luck on your physics exam!  
**hyalite: I'm glad I could ease the growing pain of your finals. Hope you passed with flying colors!  
**ilgma: I don't know why, but I like helpless Ron, too. ^_^  
**Kia: Don't go and die on me! Reviewers are hard to find!! *hug*  
**Nightengale: *giggles* Thanky kindly, lovey!  
**Robs: *laughs* I know I'm in trouble when I'm laughing for minutes over a review! *hug*  
**Andrea: Sorry I took forever sending you back an e-mail. *sad* Glad you liked this, though!! *hug*  
**The Treacle Tart: *snorts* I love your pen name! *squee* I'm glad your glad my name popped up!  
  
~*~  
  
Chapter Two: A Dream Come True  
  
Ron spat at Draco's feet and hissed angrily, "I'd rather die than be yours."  
  
A sly look snuck over Draco's frosty countenance and he turned his back to Ron, saying absently over his shoulder, "I'm sure you and Potter would like to die together, then. Pity. Though his end is inevitable anyway, why not have it sooner, eh? Though yours can still be saved, Ron."  
  
Ron's head snapped up. "H-harry?"  
  
"That's right, Ron; he's under *my* control. I may play with him as I please. Actually," he added smoothly, "I think I'm in the mood to have some fun *right* now."  
  
"Wait! Draco.... please. Wait."  
  
Facing away from Ron, Draco closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, reigning back the emotions flooding through him at hearing those delicious words spoken so earnestly. How long had he waited? How long had it been?  
  
He turned slowly and saw Ron up on his knees, leaning forward and - his breath caught just looking at it - reaching for him with those long, shaking fingers. There was also something in his eyes that made Draco want to conquer his mouth again and push him to the ground. It was a look of pleading helplessness. He cleared his throat, staring down at the redhead coldly as Ron leaned back on his heels, mop of tangled hair falling over his face to partially hide his expression. Draco knelt down and took his chin tightly in his grasp, bringing the earnest face up again so that he met that pleading gaze eye to eye.  
  
"You say you will give yourself to me to extend Harry's life."  
  
Brown eyes dropped to the ground, covered by the ratted red fringe. "Yes. If it will save Harry-"  
  
"Only for a time."  
  
Those eyes then flashed angrily. "I don't care. This is Harry. All he *needs* is some time."  
  
Draco frowned when the chin was yanked from his grasp. He let his hand linger in the air a little longer before dropping it onto Ron's shoulder. The other boy closed his eyes and let out a rattling breath, slightly shrinking away from Draco's touch. White fingers dug into his shoulder, tipping him forward.  
  
"You may come to regret this decision," Draco breathed hotly against his lips.  
  
Glaring angry daggers at him, Ron murmured, "You wouldn't understand, even if I tried to explain. I would give my life for Harry. And he would do the same for me."  
  
"Touching. *Really*." His hands slid down Ron's chest to grip his hips, nails digging into pale flesh. Ron gasped in pain, and Draco plunged his tongue into his mouth, smiling against struggling lips as Ron's tongue dueled his own frantically.  
  
Breathing heavily, Draco shoved Ron onto his back, quickly straddling the other boy's hips and pinning his wrists up above his head. Ron struggled, fear apparent in his eyes once more. Bitten, trembling lips parted. Draco closed his eyes, burying his face in Ron's chest, darting his tongue over an erected nipple. Beneath him the redhead thrashed and fought his hold almost wildly.  
  
"Please..."  
  
For a moment lost in dreams coming true Draco imagined that word was whispered sensuously in a tone of utmost need and desire. But when he opened is eyes he was instead met with the sight of a terrified and broken boy still writhing under him, shrinking away against the floor, his whole lanky body shaking violently with fear.  
  
Leaning back, lifting Ron's hands over his head and pushing them into his chest, Draco wiped his mouth. Ron watched him, brown gaze helpless.  
  
"You still wish to save Potter's life."  
  
"Yes," Ron replied waveringly.  
  
Draco stood up, eyeing the boy coldly. "House elves will come and fetch you. When you are cleaned and.... ready, you will be led to the dining room to join me for dinner."  
  
A momentary spark of defiance glinted in Ron's eyes.  
  
"I've lost my appetite," he growled.  
  
"And Potter will have lost his lead."  
  
Ron clenched his teeth and threw his gaze to the dirty floor, fingers digging into the grime.   
  
All in one swift movement Draco had Ron on the ground again, this time his foot pressing into the wizard's collar. He pinned him there, eyes shards of darkly reflecting glass. Then he leaned over, pressing his boot harder into Ron's throat, cutting off his air.  
  
"You do what I tell you, Ron. You're mine now, remember?"  
  
~*~  
  
The robe of emerald green clung to Ron uncomfortably and swished at his feet, sending him tripping over his bad leg several times. He cursed and flushed deeply when he finally lifted the hem, fully aware of how much he resembled a girl in a flouncy gown.   
  
Moistened tendrils of lengthy red hair trailed into his eyes and he tossed his head, freezing when he saw a spidery wraith floating about twenty feet above him like a web of mist. Backing out from directly under it, he watched in amazement as it followed his movement sluggishly, dropping a few feet.  
  
Every time the young wizard would move, the ghost would follow as loyally as an old dog. It both unnerved him and fascinated him and Ron forgot completely about his dinner scheduled with Draco as he raced up stairways and down halls trying to flee from the spirit. Yet every time he would pause to catch his breath and look up, there it would be, just settling into place.  
  
"Leave me alone!" he yelled at it. The floating wraith did not move. Instead it drew closer and closer to him. Stumbling away down the hall, Ron glanced back to see the wraith gaining on him rapidly, the air surrounding him growing cold as it drew nearer and nearer.  
  
A stab of intense pain shot through his leg every step of the way and Ron cried out, falling as his knee buckled with a sharp crack. The wraith settled over him like a blanket and it was like he had been submerged in a cloud of dry ice, freezing up his lungs.  
  
The hall wavered and spun. Spots appeared dotting his vision in a hail storm of black pinpricks. He weakly brought up his hands to push at the encroaching mist, but the wraith seemed to grow thicker and thicker around him, becoming as heavy as cotton. Ron could no longer get air into his lungs and the cold gnawed mercilessly at his leg, spearing through the twisted bone and yanking at the cramping muscle. His lips chapped and split, a thin sheen of frost hardening over his face and freezing his eyes. The ghostly cloud of his gasping breath died away and Ron lay immobile in the middle of an unfamiliar hall, a living statue of ice.  
  
Slowly the wraith ebbed away from his dwindling warmth, seeping slowly down the hall like some alien creature made of syrup. Ron's unseeing eyes reflected the flickering torches lining the wall, unmoving and as glass behind the half closed lids.  
  
A figure appeared at the end of the hall and rushed toward him. They knelt down beside him, laying warm hand over his chest and cheeks. A finger twitched atop his right hand, and Draco smiled. The wraith was meant to attack anyone who did not carry a special amulet with them, marking them as one of Lucius' confidants.  
  
His gray eyes slipped up the rigid figure to the parted lips, frozen in a look of fright. Leaning down, he pressed his hot mouth over the thin ice, stroking his tongue along the frosty skin and rubbing his hands along the lanky body. Ice melted away, coating his hand with freezing liquid. Soon the brown eyes were blinking and the lips moving against his.  
  
"You'll need one of these," he said, tossing Ron an amulet, which the boy failed to catch, his arms still slow and stiff.  
  
Ron looked at it suspiciously, coughing up more water. Draco stood off a little ways, watching him with a blank face.  
  
"You should get out of those wet clothes," Draco pointed out, smirking when Ron clutched the robe to him protectively, "I don't want you catching pneumonia."  
  
The Gryffindor shivered in response and sniffled through a runny nose. Draco walked up to him, laying a hand that burned against his flaxen white cheeks, sneering a little when Ron flinched.  
  
"Another bath is in order, then we sup."  
  
This time there were no house elves bustling around getting expensive soaps and gently padding off his back. Instead there was Draco watching him undress with great amusement at Ron's sluggish movements. The blonde had offered to help numerous times, but Ron was determined against voluntary touching.  
  
When the redhead had managed to get the garment halfway off his torso, hanging at his hips, Draco approached him, impatient and hungry for more of that freckled white flesh to see and touch. Ron at first tried to get away, but Draco caught his wrists deftly and yanked down the robe from his hips and letting it drop with a wet sound to the floor around Ron's ankles.  
  
The boy stood there before the blonde shivering and looking very small and vulnerable in his nakedness. His knees knocked together, and his cheeks were blotchy red. The beguiling brown eyes had dropped back to the floor and in the silence that followed only Ron's tiny shivering gasps were audible.  
  
Draco let go of Ron's wrists, his eyes roving over the boy's body, tongue darting out to draw over his lips. Ron saw him and tried to cover himself, moving away from Draco. He paused though, uncertainly, when Draco grabbed the hem of his own robes and lifted them, revealing inch after glowing inch of alabaster brilliance. Ron stared, mesmerized as a nude Draco Malfoy sauntered up to him, pressing his lithe body to Ron's, and hooked his arms securely around his neck, biting Ron's chin and yanking his face at a downwards angle, moving his lips to the shocked redhead's.  
  
Jerking slightly at the feel of Draco's bare skin against his hands, Ron moved them away, locked in place by Draco's arms. He turned his head, avoiding Draco's burning stare.  
  
"Weasly, there is no point in resisting. You'll only make it harder on yourself. Literally." He smiled coyly and lay both his palms flat against Ron's chest, pushing him slowly backwards. Ron met his eyes, a kind of grim defiance lingering there, and allowed the Slytherin to push him to the edge of the lavish bath lined with scented bubbles.  
  
Draco's eyes sparkled. "Watch your step."  
  
Down in the water, Ron was even more nervous than he had been standing naked in front of Draco. Now he couldn't see the Slytherin's hands. Sitting opposite him, Draco looked as if he had read Ron's thoughts, slipping his hands beneath the bubbles, following up by submerging his whole body. Ron jerked up against the tiles, eyes searching over the still surface of foam. Then he felt a feather light hand brush against his inner thigh and he cried out, scrambling backwards.  
  
A brilliant white head surfaced from right between his legs and Draco hovered there in the water, almost touching the other boy. Then he moved closer, straddling Ron's hips and grinning with malicious glee as Ron's eyes grew very big and round, staring at the water where underneath their flesh met.  
  
Draco rocked his hips, delighting in the feel of Ron's wet and naked groin grinding against his and reveling in the tiny whimpering pleas coming from that rose bud mouth. He looked at Ron's eyes, which were fixed on him. He leaned forward and hissed into Ron's ear.  
  
"What Harry would say if he saw you now. Would he laugh? Would he cry?" Draco pressed harder, nearly laughing when Ron uttered a breathy cry, never breaking eye contact. "Would he wish to *join* us, or would he curse your name and run away?"  
  
Suddenly Ron had come alive, grabbing Draco's shoulders forcefully and slamming him into the cold tiles on the opposite side of the tub, sending waves of bubbles and water slapping over the edge. The Slytherin hissed in pain, eye sparking dangerously. But the spark died out into a wary anger at the black rage boiling over Ron's features.  
  
"You leave Harry out of this, you bastard," he said clearly, shaping each word slowly. "I said you could have me, but if you touch him, or taunt him, I will get you for it."  
  
Momentarily stunned, Draco just mouthed a response that would not take shape. Then he shoved at Ron, who glided away easily. The bubbles separated around him, and both boys glared darkly at each other before Draco stood, the water reaching his tapered waist.  
  
"Weasly, you better make it worth my while to leave Potter alone."  
  
Ron's lips thinned.  
  
"If I tell you to jump, you will bloody jump. If I tell you to sing, you will sing. If I tell you to suck me off, you'll bloody well do it," he said bitingly. Moving up to Ron so that their noses brushed he took the other boy's chin and gripped it harshly. "And if I tell you to bend over, you'll do it. I'm putting you in your place, Weasly. Beneath me."  
  
Ron's jaw tightened, and he looked as if he was going to push away. Silver eyes dared him to try, but the boy just glared back silently, his whole frame trembling. Draco smiled.  
  
"I'm glad we understand each other." He closed the gap between them and moved his mouth over Ron's. Frowning, he leaned back. "Open your mouth." To his mild surprise, Ron did it, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Draco pushed his tongue inside Ron's mouth, moaning deep in his throat and grasping at the boy's back and hips, bringing them together with a wet slap of their torsos.  
  
Shame burning hot and red poured down Ron's cheeks, painting them with a crimson streak. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling and there he saw Harry's face in the curving marble. The green eyes were filled with betrayal and disgust.  
  
I'm doing this for you, Ron screamed mentally, squeezing his eyes shut.   
  
~*~  
  
"I have him, Potter."  
  
Harry looked up dully, eyes continually sliding a little to the left, mouth hanging limply open, arms arched up above his head, white and bruised with blood loss. He turned his head slowly, following Draco's descent on the stairway, a trail of drool dripping down from his mouth.  
  
"Aren't we looking handsome today," Draco commented, standing a few feet away from Harry and bluntly holding his nose. His eyes glittered above his hands and he chuckled, glancing back the way he had arrived from up the long stairwell, top framed by a gigantic stained glass window. When there was no sound or movement, Draco flicked his eyes back to Harry, approaching him closer and crouching down a little so that he could catch the boy's wandering eyes.  
  
The scar on the flaxen white forehead stood out like an inkblot on paper. Draco had wanted to feel it, for the Dark Lord had mentioned the dark power contained in it. Slowly Draco stood, taking Harry's chin in a cautious grip and slowly turning the face up in the glowing violet light pouring in through the window above them. He held Harry's face close and brushed back the oily fringe of black, delicately tracing a circle around the bolt scar as if he were hesitant to touch it.  
  
Finally, scoffing at himself for being so childish, Draco pressed a thumb firmly to the middle of the scar. After a few moments he withdrew his hand and looked at it.   
  
Nothing. Just a scar.  
  
"You wouldn't know what to do with such power, even if you *did* have but a small portion of it. Power like that should be in the hands of those who respect it. Like me."  
  
He swaggered around the room a little, hands clasped behind his back, chin held up high, eyes boring into the limply hanging body.  
  
"What do you say we play a little game, hmmm? Tell me what your thinking, Harry," he said, "Or maybe I can guess." With a small smile he pressed two fingers against Harry's forehead, touching his own with the other hand. Eyes glinting maliciously he stepped back and announced to the empty room, "Nothing!"  
  
"Too bad your mouth isn't as dull as your brain," rasped a broken voice between unmoving lips. Draco gasped, taking an uncertain step back, and stared in a certain amazement as a nearly undetectable smile curved over the Golden Boy's lips. It was as if watching a horrible and frightening sculpture come to life out of the corner of one's eye, yet when a person looks, it has disappeared.  
  
"You dare talk to me?"  
  
"What else can I do to make you shut up?"  
  
Draco growled darkly, ripping his wand from his pocket and jabbing it into Harry's throat, growling a curse under his breath. Green eyes bulged out at him and fresh blood oozed down the line of drool. The blonde backed away swiftly, breathing heavily, and watched Harry suffer in silence.  
  
"Just try and speak now, Potter," he hissed. When Harry did not answer, he allowed himself a satisfied smirk before spinning smartly on his heel and sauntering out of the chamber with his head held high.  
  
Behind him Harry raised his head, eyes shut tightly, mouth bathed in crimson as was the front of his robe. He tentatively reached forward a foot and let it drop on the marble floor, wincing as the movement echoed sharply around the room. The Slytherin turned curtly, anger flaring in his eyes at the audacity of the broken hero.  
  
Slowly Harry focused his eyes on an impatient Draco, locking their gazes. The other wizard caught his breath at the intensity of the glittering emerald green, backing away and nearly stumbling on the stairs. Sparks flew from Harry's gaze and his eyes laughed loudly, You'll never beat me down. Then he smiled; it was small, but it held all the power in the world and it was then that Draco turned and fled up the stairs, pausing once to look back, silhouetted against the intricate backdrop of the stained glass, head haloed by a blooming rose, body lined with poison thorns.  
  
~*~  
  
The long hall stretched before him like an endless tunnel. Draco wondered how it had suddenly become so cold. Over the years of living in the Slytherin dungeons and in this very cold mansion, he had been able to tough out the cold, but this was different. It was more inside of him.  
  
Grimacing, he realized that cold he felt was fear. He feared the strength he had glimpsed in Harry's eyes. It was obvious how much power the boy possessed. Who knew what it took, how much anyone needed to push him, to unleash it. Draco wondered idly if he would be the one to feel Potter's wrath first.  
  
The door to his room was closed and locked, just as he had left it. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard running water, then the footsteps of a person. He waited until the footsteps had faded before quietly opening the door and sneaking in, tiptoeing to the door of the bathroom and peering in, unseen by Ron.  
  
Dim orange light made the redhead's hair burn crimson and his eyes black. Skin as white as snow shown and Draco leaned heavily against the doorjamb as Ron felt the material of the robe he held in his hands. It was a delicate garment of finest satin, a deep forest green color and elegant. Ron held it still, staring at it, then slowly lifted it and rubbed it against his cheek. Closing his eyes, the lanky youth slipped into the robe and Draco appraised him silently from the doorway and marveled at how the fabric settled so perfectly over his frame, as if it were made for him. Ron pivoted in front of the huge mirrors, the sadness wracking his face somewhat lightened, if not completely gone. The gauntness of his face was eased by the clothes, which hung upon him in a quiet grace.  
  
Draco eased into the bathroom, walking slowly, almost prowling like a cat. He didn't want to disturb Ron, not when he was like this.  
  
You don't realize how beautiful you are, he told Ron silently, Everyone is so blinded by Potter that they don't see the striking creature always in his shadow. Ron, you could be so much with me.  
  
He stood still in the middle of the bathroom, watching the redhead with a detached fascination, mind wandering back to Potter's iron expression and Ron's earlier warning; their deal. But Ron didn't have to know that Harry was strung up, did he? He didn't have to know that his best friend had been without food for days. Ron didn't have to bear the knowledge that Harry's wrists were sliced, his legs numb, his head pounding and blood hot with infection. No, Ron had to know that Harry was perfectly safe, if not completely satisfied with the situation. No, Ron needn't know anything besides that.  
  
"In this light you look like an alluring demon, Ron," he said, startling the subject of his fascination. Ron flushed and looked away, mouth sinking again into a grim line. Draco chuckled and shook his head. He moved towards Ron as if to touch him, but the redhead evaded him and ducked out into the main bedroom. Narrowing his eyes and trying to reign the anger rising up inside him, Draco followed.  
  
After Ron had walked to the other side of the bed, facing the wall, Draco opened the doors of his wardrobe and selected a finely cut robe for the evening meal. Standing immediately across the bed from Ron, he began to slowly strip, eyes fixed piercingly into the redhead's back.  
  
"What is this brooding silence?" He slowly lifted his shirt, pulling it over his head and coming back into the light with Ron's eyes on him.  
  
"Where were you all this time?"  
  
"That really is sweet, Ron. Concerned of my whereabouts."  
  
"If you hurt Harry-"  
  
Draco cut him off with a swipe of his hand. "Quiet. We can talk at dinner if you're so intent upon it."  
  
Now smirking, Draco sensuously brushed his fingers down his torso and over his stomach, easily pulling the knot of his trousers undone and wiggling his hips a little to allow the pants to slip down his legs. Stepping out of them, Draco rounded the bedside, eyes laughing when Ron fell back against the wall, hands spread on either side of him. It was like approaching a deer caught in the headlights of a muggle car. Delicious.  
  
"I always had thought Gryffindors were known for their need for action, yet all I'm getting from you is talk," he said, running his fingers through Ron's hair and fingering the strands. Hooding his eyes and peering up through stark black lashes, Draco pulled Ron's head down, pressing it to the hollow of his throat. The other boy resolutely turned his head to the side and Draco tilted his face, whispering, "We want to be difficult, then?"  
  
"I want to know where you were."  
  
Sighing heavily, Draco pushed away from Ron, glaring at him in disappointment. Hanging a thumb on the seam of his boxers, Draco sauntered back to his robe and stepped into it, shimmying it up his legs and buttoning it up.  
  
"Fits like a glove," he commented, glancing down and looking himself over. When he glanced behind him, brown eyes flicked away, partially hidden by jagged red locks. Draco smiled, "Caught you peeking."  
  
Ron had expected a mile long mahogany table and a large, empty room with dark green walls and high arched ceiling with a low hanging chandelier of leaves and twists. Instead he was greeted by a crowded room, walls barely visible under all the tapestries and portraits. The table they seated themselves at was the width of a twin sized bed and as long as a picnic table. He was directed to a seat by a house elf, who pulled out his chair as he stiffly sat on the edge, back erect, shoulders tense. Across from him Draco slid into his seat, flicking the white napkin from the table and laying it aside his empty plate with graceful practice.  
  
As if one cue a line of house elves marched in. Dark liquid Ron guessed to be expensive wine filled his glass and platters were presented to him of which he was to choose his meal out of.  
  
"The courses may be small, but they are also many," Draco informed him after selecting a tiny spot of meat and sauce that sat in the middle of his plate like a single cactus in a vast desert. Ron picked one at random and stared dismally down at the lump of gray mush and orange goo on his plate.  
  
After picking at it, and struggling through two more similar dishes, Ron glanced up at Draco, who was chewing quietly, fork poised at his lips, eyes fixed on Ron and dancing with mirth. Coloring, the redhead averted his eyes, taking a deep sip of wine.  
  
"Feeling drowsy?"  
  
Ron looked up again. Draco was asking him something. But he felt so odd, so tired. Swaying in his seat, Ron struggled to keep his eyes open and mumbled, "You promised to tell me-"  
  
"I won't lie to you, I *did* see Potter. He's alive, and he's as obnoxious as ever. I swear to you on my family blood that he was smirking when I left."  
  
Feeling thoroughly dizzy, Ron lay both his hands flat on the table and fought to stay up. He worked his mouth, trying to form words, but his muscles were freezing over. Slowly he looked up and met the chilling gray gaze, shivering at the twisting mouth, and managed to say legibly, "Were.... were his eyes.... were they still.... bright...."  
  
Draco watched as Ron slipped from his chair and fell quietly to the floor, lying down peacefully, his head haphazardly cradled on one hand. Standing, Draco muttered a spell and maneuvered Ron's unconscious body back through the halls to his room. Laying the sleeping form on the bed, Draco stepped back and looked at the lithe body spread out before him. But when he moved onto the bed, Potter's eyes flashed in his head and he paused. Then, chiding himself for fearing a helpless fool, he straddled Ron's hips and placed a gentle kiss on the unresponsive mouth, fingers fumbling with the clasps leading down the length of the robe.  
  
Green cloth separated, revealing milky white skin beneath that smelled of sweet cinnamon and the Burrow. Draco breathed in the unfamiliar scent, hunched over the boy, grasping his shoulders and drawing his lips down the middle of Ron's chest.  
  
"So beautiful," he murmured, lips whispering against skin which smarted under the wispy caress of warm breath. A soft moan issued from Ron's mouth, and Draco claimed the sound, thrumming against his teeth. He pushed Ron's wrists above his head, pinning them to the pillow and stabbed his knee between Ron's thighs, shoving them apart.  
  
The boy whimpered, brow knitting in subconscious concern. Draco chuckled, Ron wouldn't be able to open his eyes for another fifteen minutes if he was *really* fighting the spell. His limbs would be weak, as would be his will. Draco had learned this particular potion recently, and had been dying to test his skills.  
  
Lucky thing Weasly dropped by.  
  
But what to do now that he had Ron totally subdued. He took his wand and conjured thin cords to secure the slender wrists and sat back on the redhead's hips, contemplating his next move. Slowly he leaned down, aligning his torso with Ron's and gently placing a kiss on the wet mouth. Ron's lips parted automatically and to Draco's pleasant surprise the sleeping wizard responded to his ministrations. Drawing back again, breathless, Draco wiped his mouth and rested his hands loosely on the sides of Ron's face, lifting it so that his mouth remained open and throat exposed to the darkened lights of the chamber. He suckled the throbbing adam's apple, tangling his fingers in the thick red locks, marveling at the smoothness they held, like strands of finest silk.  
  
A raw and deep fervor began to build inside of Draco. As he responded to the moist skin against his, he realized fully how much he was in control. His eyes roved over the sweat sparkling body, unearthly and dreamlike in the effect of the flickering candle light. Drawing a finger down Ron's chest, he smiled casually and followed his finger with his tongue. Ron was fighting all right. No wonder at this sheen of sweat soaking his skin, he was exhausting himself both physically and mentally trying to get out of Draco's hold.  
  
"No use trying," Draco purred softly in a sing-song voice, spreading Ron's legs wider with his hands and crouching low to breath over the cream white inner thigh which quivered at his touch. He caressed the delicate curve of a shaking hip with his tongue, rolling his eyes with pleasure as Ron moaned deep in his throat, body arching instinctively with the gentle touches fluttering over his skin.  
  
Draco moved back up Ron's body, tongue leaving a cool trail of saliva in his wake. He ravaged Ron's mouth, shoving the boy's head back into the pillow and moaning loudly, tongue delving deep into Ron's cavern and stroking along his teeth. But as his fingers danced down Ron's body, brushing past his groin and digging into the sheets, curving under his backside, Draco felt a seizure grip his muscles and he felt nearly paralyzed, crying out and jerking back from the shivering figure on the bed. Hissing darkly from the ground where he sprawled, Draco rose unsteadily to his feet, heart racing both with surprise and unanswered passion. What had happened? It was as if he had been electrocuted. By what, though?  
  
He stalked closer to Ron, who had fallen deeper into his spelled slumber, chest abandoning the jaunty rhythm of before for a peaceful rise and fall. His eyes had gone still beneath his lids, and the long fingers curled up under his cheek. Weasly looked as if he was taking a simple nap on a warm summer after noon.  
  
Silver eyes narrowed down to burning slits as anger boiled beneath his brow in a black heat. There was no way Ron could've stopped him! No possible way.   
  
Draco shut his eyes tightly, clenching his fists. Growling beneath his breath, he stomped over to the sleeping Ron and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly. The boy's red head lolled back and forth limply on his long neck, soft tresses floating through the air. Draco threw him back onto the mattress and sneered as the boy curled back up and sighed. Anger rearing high and fierce, Draco raised a hand to cast a stinging blow over Ron's cheek, but before his hand connected with the freckled flesh, there were twin sparks of violent green and Draco staggered back, gasping.  
  
For a flash second he could've swore he saw Harry Potter staring at him out of Ron's closed eyes. Those twin emerald orbs beating into him with rage and deep power. The scar had stood out on Ron's forehead, blazing like a jagged rip in the black night sky. Then it had faded and the green eyes faded away to closed brown eyes and strawberry lashes.  
  
"Damn you, Potter," Draco growled. He snatched a flowing black robe from the bed post and swept out the door. As the door slammed shut with a reverberating clap, Ron snuggled closer to the pillow and smiled a little, tucking his hand tighter against his cheek, dreaming of cookies baking in the Burrow kitchen and sweet flowers lining the garden.  
  
"I miss you," he mumbled, and a soft tear crept passed the lids and trickled down his cheek, falling soundlessly onto the pillow and disappearing.  
  
A/N: *giggles* How terribly depressing! So what's Draccie poo gonna do to Harry? He's obviously very miffed at him. *contemplates* What to have next.... How about ballroom dancing, Ron blushing, and Harry having a temper tantrum somewhere in the future. *looks to muses, who nod affirmatively* Looks good, guys!! *hug* Au revior!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	3. Reality Check Part I

A/N: *growls* This chappy will have to be split up into two parts because it's too long. *pout* And I went through more editing than you could shake a bloody fist at! Grrrrrr. So, I'm sorry. My story's all lopsided now. Gee whiz....  
  
THANX TO....  
**siw-wa: *grins* I know! And I'm the author!  
**Rachel M.: I haven't decided if Ron and Harry are more than friends yet...  
**Andrea: Hey, dollface!! *blows kiss* Go, Sheena, go!  
**Nightengale: Keep rooting for Draco and we'll see what happens. *_~  
**Kia: *worried* I gave you a nosebleed? *grins* Coolio muffins! I hope it's all right now!  
**samui: Peeps, I love you, but keep in mind that I have to keep this under NC-17!!  
**Kenna Hijja: *grin* I re-read those adj. parts and agree with you 100%! Thank you for that, and I'll try to stay somewhat less fluffy in the future. *hug*  
**ash: Thanks, lovey!  
**GLEH: *shakes head* Just keep pickling away, darling. *_~  
**Robs: *hug* I'm sure you'll get it all fixed up! And you are SO lucky you get a snow day! *jealous*  
  
Chapter Three: Reality Check (Part One)  
  
Trees dark and looming towered over him and cold wind bit at his face, licking along the sleeves of his cloak. Harry squinted his eyes against the gale and pushed forward, shoving aside heavy, wet branches and pulling his legs through messy tangles of thorns and vines. Rain speared through the trees and struck his head like tiny bombs, stabbing at his raw scalp mercilessly. Despite the harsh conditions though, he trudged on, guided only by an overgrown trail and the dim line of light trickling pitifully from his wand tip.  
  
Above the rolling clouds chuckled grim thunder and they flashed their impatience with him in streaks of lightning. Harry hunkered down under a leaning tree, sniffling and pulling the sopping hood of his cloak over his head. The cold surrounded him and pressed all around, gnawing at his flesh with an evil vehemence.  
  
Blinking away the stinging rain, Harry held up his wand, drawing it up his torso, muttering through chattering teeth a weak warming spell. The magic drifted in tiny puffs over his body, dissolving in the pounding rain. Harry looked above his head and fell back in horror.   
  
The tree was completely bare. And as his eyes swept the forest, he saw that all the other trees were the same. There was not one scrap of green in the place. No color. Even the rain was shrinking away to a light mist which grew into a dense fog. He sucked in moist air, coughing and gasping as his lungs filled with water. Harry bent over the ground, retching and coughing violently. His whole inside system seemed to spill out onto the bare ground and disappear into the cracks lining the tan sand. He gasped, staring at his hand as he held it in the air, sand drifting down between his burning fingers.  
  
He grabbed the tree trunk to stable himself on his feet, only to stagger away as his hand met the rock hard husk of the once living plant, now bone white and barren as the dull blue sky above.  
  
Heat poured over him in huge gusting waves, nearly crushing his breath from him. Sweat cascaded down his cheeks, down his body, dripping from his lashes and chin, over gasping and split lips, bleeding crimson into the thirsty ground which drank with a blind greed.  
  
Green eyes glowing vividly in the dull world widened and then closed as the burning skin of his body grew dry and taught, splitting over his hands and knees. Pain, needling and focused, coursed down his legs and wracked his ankles, throwing his limp body to the sands. Underneath his inert figure, the sand stuck to his flesh and drank the burning salty sweat covering his body in tiny perfect beads.  
  
The sky began to blur. He reached toward it, dry throat flaming with a crackling and stinging agony that shredded his throat with every rasping breath. Scarlet lines on his hands stood out in picturesque tracery. Harry squinted at it and let his hands drop back to his sides, thumping onto the ground with a defeated weakness. Yet the lines of blood remained in the air, floating there surrounding the thrumming blue of the sky and the torturous white of the dead trees.  
  
They were the last thing he saw, plastered against the backs of his lids and left burning there as Harry felt himself die.  
  
In Death he saw a figure, dressed in long flowing robes that billowed out from it as if in waves of dark power. It was surrounded by the designs. Blood became brilliant petals of deepest scarlet shade, and white the streaming clouds above in blue skies. The pain in his wrists lessened to a dull ache, and Harry blinked against the dying sunlight.  
  
The lines of black tracing the giant glass rose and the skies of the stained window hurt his eyes, yet he could not turn away from the figure standing in the rose, watching him with the darkest eyes. Harry cried out hoarsely and crumpled to the ground as his hands came free of the manacles and fresh blood coated the floor. Weakly he turned his head and stared up in awe at the figure that slowly began to descend the stairs with foreboding grace.  
  
"Harry...."  
  
That voice.  
  
"Harry...."  
  
So close.  
  
"Harry...."  
  
A hand, so cold, touching his cheek, lifting his face.  
  
"Harry."  
  
A whisper, dry and soft. Delicate fingers moving over his eyes, smoothing his brows, brushing his lips.  
  
"My Harry."  
  
Burning tongue sliding over his eyes, down his jaw, dipping between the bloodied lips and into his mouth. Forked. Weak teeth coming apart, eyes locked closed, hands dragging against the floor. Back pressing into stone.  
  
Only mine.  
  
Teeth needle sharp piercing his tongue and lips gently drawing it into flaming mouth. Drinking.  
  
On the ground and free of the hands. Green appears fleetingly, flashing pools of poison in the filtered evening. Red scar pulsing on white skin.  
  
"Tom..."  
  
~*~  
  
Ron wondered if he was supposed to be hanging upside down from the bed, suspended merely by the satin sheets.  
  
Somehow he didn't think so.  
  
Grumbling darkly under his breath, Ron slumped gracelessly to the ground, kicking at the sheets. His dress cloak trapped his feet and he attacked the green cloth with numb fingers. Only when a drop of drool hit his struggling digits did he realize his mouth was hanging limply open and trailing saliva all over his arms.  
  
His whole body tingled unpleasantly like it had just been closed off in ice for a decade, then put quickly into a stuffy room to sit and thaw out. With muscles twitching spastically, and eyes continually wanting to close, Ron fought himself to the bathroom and promptly vomited up all those tiny courses for dinner into the toilet.  
  
When he was done, the redhead leaned back, wiping his mouth and much too weary to rinse away the vile taste clouding his mouth and stinging at the back of his nose.Shivers wracked his body, jerking his spine and proclaiming loudly and painfully that his back was twisted in several places. Ron swore, gripping his head, and lay face down on the bathroom floor, staring dismally at the white tiles. Beside him, a warm black towel tickled his fingers, intensifying the already maddening prickle of pins and needles chasing away the numbness in his limbs. When he moved to throw it away from him, his eyes were immediately drawn to the bath.  
  
Magically it had filled itself with deep, heavenly warm water, surface nearly bubbling over the sides with floating spheres of lavender scents. Ron stared at it.  
  
His back screamed in protest when he sat up, trying to persuade him to take a dunk in the bath. But Ron would not be dissuaded. He wanted to know what had gone down when he was asleep.  
  
Asleep, or drugged?  
  
Slender hands a tiny bit too big for his thin wrists patted down his chest and swept over his legs. He felt suddenly vulnerable, and pulled the dress cloak tightly around his body, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them.   
  
He remembered Malfoy's hands on him, and the helpless feeling of being trapped inside a tiny box submerged in water. It had hurt to breathe, and everything that touched him stung. Even know his skin felt rubbed raw. Drawing a finger lightly over his cheek, he felt a bruise and winced. The finger shook and he looked at it, eyes silently filling with tears.  
  
How could this have happened?  
  
~*~  
  
The figure had been gone quicker than it had appeared. Harry felt remarkably clear headed in an unpleasant, but relieving way. He rolled his shoulders, regardless of the pain the movement invoked, and repented at the fact that his hands were still trapped and the blood still unable to circulate in his arms.Harry coughed drily, his whole throat on fire, wincing as a new wetness, hotter than his feverish skin, bubbled up over his lips. How much blood had he lost? How much blood could he *lose*?  
  
"Some things never change, do they Potter?"  
  
He looked up dully as a darkly clad figure came hurdling down the stairs, taking them two by two on long graceful legs. A patch of silver swam across Harry's vision and he blinked in muddled confusion.   
  
"You always somehow find a way to spite me, even in this state. You are nothing!"   
  
Draco spat on the ground at Harry's feet, fists shaking at his sides, eyes blazing and livid with rage. He marched up to Harry and slapped him viscously across the face in an explosive fit of anger. Harry barely felt it, moaning softly anyway, his hands stirring in the harsh manacles draining his bloodless arms.  
  
A cool evening light spilled into the vast chamber, alighting Draco's silver hair in licks of blue.  
  
"He is mine, do you understand?"  
  
Who is what? Harry mumbled mentally, blinking hair out of his eyes.  
  
Draco grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Needling pain seared over his skin and boiled in his stomach. Harry's mouth fell open in a silent scream of agony as the Slytherin jarred him, pushing his body back against the chains that held him, cutting into his weakened, bruised wrists and slicing at his swollen ankles.  
  
"Stop trying to protect him!"  
  
Harry clenched his jaw. Malfoy's voice was nothing but a low droning buzz. Why didn't he just leave him alone? It was bad enough he had to hang here. Not to mention exactly where 'here' was. Regardless of not knowing for sure that fact, Harry thought it a pretty bad position anyway, and would gladly be somewhere else.  
  
Clearly gaining no reaction from the Gryffindor, Draco strode away, doubling back to thrust his face into Harry's, burning slits for eyes daring the boy to say anything, do anything. Yet he knew, deep down, that Potter was truly out of it. Even the scar on his forehead had changed. It was stark white against his grimy skin. Stark white like a real bolt in the pitch black skies.  
  
Draco felt the same pull to touch it as before. This time he didn't hesitate. As if by pressing his palm to Potter's forehead he could defeat the broken boy. Harry didn't react even to that. He just hung there like a corpse while Draco fished for the power he knew to be inside Potter. Had to be inside of him-  
  
Nothing, not even a life presence.  
  
"Potter," he whispered. "Potter."  
  
Harry squinted open his eyes painfully.  
  
"I have something that will wake you up."  
  
Draco had been contemplating things as he made his way down to Potter. Many things of which he really should be ashamed, yet couldn't help but ponder. Obviously forcing Ron would never truly bring the boy around. So Draco planned to do something that his father would have spit at.  
  
He tipped up Harry's chin, smirking into the unexpressive face coyly. "I shall make your 'Wheezy' fall in love with me, Potter."  
  
Inside Harry's head, something clicked. His eyes widened momentarily and for mere seconds he felt strength of anger flood his veins and he managed to rasp out, "You'll never win him over.... you bastard.... Ron is too good.... for you...."  
  
Draco stepped smoothly away from Potter as fresh blood trickled over frantically moving lips. Then he grinned rakishly and reached forward to pat Harry on the side of the cheek.  
  
"We'll see, Potter. We'll just have to see."  
  
~*~  
  
He looked out over the dizzily steep edge stretching down from him and fell back a little, gripping the stone banister with frigid fingers. For a moment, Ron wondered what it would be like to jump. To be free. His thoughts faded away and the air rushed to his head as he let out his breath and then inhaled deeply, pushing away from the edge with a sick feeling in his stomach.  
  
"A sickle for your thoughts," a voice murmured in his ear. Ron stiffened as a slender arm wound around his torso and he recognized the slim weight of Malfoy pressing into his back. Feather light lips brushed his ear and a steamy mouth suckled at his neck. Tilting his head to the side, Ron submitted his throat to Draco's lips, gasping as teeth sank in. Warmth sprouted from the spot, replaced with a bitter sting as Draco lapped at the wound. Ron held very still, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath not daring to leave his lungs. As if Draco would forget him if he didn't breathe.  
  
The Slytherin finally drew away, licking his lips like a sated cat. Ron didn't meet his eyes, only slipped past him back into the bedroom, eyes darting to the closed door, then falling back to the ground.   
  
I can't escape. I won't. For Harry.  
  
Draco shut the glass doors leading to the balcony and faced Ron, his eyes bright. A smile curled over his mouth when he saw how the other boy was shivering. Really foolish to sit outside in the dense cold with nothing but a thin robe on. He approached Ron slowly, carefully.  
  
"You could've caught your death," he said, gently laying his hands on Ron's arms and rubbing them. "I was out to get you hot tea. You had blacked out."  
  
Ron's eyes finally rose to meet gray defiantly, as if daring the blonde to lie. Draco sat on the bed, patting the space next to him. Ron's lips thinned, but he sat anyway, even if it was on the far edge.  
  
"I take it you're feeling well?" Draco held himself back from yanking the boy over forcefully, and instead grasped his hands in his lap.  
  
"Fine," Ron answered firmly through clenched teeth. Draco saw his fists grasping the sheets tightly and he knew he must say something or else either he would snap, or Ron would get too cocky.  
  
"Your mind lingers on Potter."  
  
*That* brought those pretty eyes around.  
  
Slowly Ron inched closer. "Is he still awake?"  
  
"Still alive and kicking I assure you," Draco lied smoothly. "Rather bored out of his wits if nothing else. Still has that same bastard attitude. Same old Potter, just penned up."  
  
"Does he know I'm here?"  
  
Ron was subconsciously moving closer, and for today, Draco had been kind enough.  
  
"No, Ron."  
  
He looked relieved. "I'm glad."  
  
The tremors had left his arms and there was a small smile on his lips. Draco paused to watch him, then took Ron's chin and raised his face closely, pressing their lips together. At first Ron made as if to flinch away, but Draco caught the back of his head and applied just enough pressure for the redhead to still. The mention of Harry seemed to sober Ron, remind him that the blonde wizard was the one in control.  
  
Abandoning his words to Potter, Draco pressed Ron onto his back, easily sliding the white robe off of him. Ron went still. Draco ignored him, his hands moving down to Ron's hips and dragging them into his. They both gasped and Draco rocked against the other wizard, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss.  
  
Ron's hands pushed at him and Draco noticed the redhead was shrinking away, pressing back into the sheets. He frowned, drawing back and staring impassively down at the squirming wizard. Brown eyes were cast to the side, but Draco could see the fear in them, clear as day. Smirking, he reached over and picked up his wand, hissing the spell that brought a jeweled dagger into his hands.  
  
Now the redhead struggled against him, twisting and fighting to get away. Anger overrode any other emotion, along with lusting hunger, and he dipped the dagger under Ron's back, twisting it onto its side and pressing upwards as he dragged it along the squirming spine.  
  
Pain was evident in Ron's panicked gaze. He arched away from the dagger, pressing up into Draco, clinging to him as the blade sliced at his back. He yelped and clung harder, burying his face into Draco's chest. Then as blood bathed the white sheets, he looked into the boy's cold, cold eyes.  
  
The dagger paused, and brown met silver with a measure of mutinous submission. Then the lanky wizard did something Draco would have never even hoped woud happen. Ron leaned forward, tongue darting over Draco's lips, delving into the hot crevice, and consumed his mouth in a wet and hurried kiss. Draco moaned, throwing the bloody dagger away and sliding his tongue along Ron's, twisting his mouth and drinking in the other's breath, hands clutching flesh.  
  
Under him Ron's eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, tears burning as fiercely as the pain on his back. The coarse sheets scraped at his wounds and bit at his skin, but he kept his voice silent, playing to Draco's movements. He wondered what Harry was thinking, if he was all right.   
  
He wondered whether he would kill himself, or live out this life in a prison of such cold finery.  
  
I want to escape, he thought.  
  
A/N: Please go on to part two!!!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	4. Reality Check Part II

Chapter Three: Part Two of Reality Check...  
  
Lucius strode down the hall, eyes spearing through the dark before him. Torches flickered as he passed, as if from a chill. But the master of the house paid no mind. He was sent to this wing of the mansion on specific orders from his own Master: To bring the boy to Voldemort.  
  
"He is Potter's weakest point."  
  
"Potter is too far gone."  
  
"Master, we must try every option. If he does not react to the Weasly child, than he is truly gone and like clay in our hands."  
  
Voldemort had paused for a long time, head bent in thought, youthful face framed by the blackest hair and whitest skin, all focused by the most chilling gray eyes. When he had looked back at Lucius, a cruel smile whispered over his lips.  
  
"Yes, Lucius. Bring me the boy. I would like to see him."  
  
Now he was on the way to his son's private quarters, sweeping along the hallways like some approaching black storm.  
  
Draco sat up abruptly in bed, his eyes flicking to the door. He pushed himself back on his hands, tense and silent. He he held his breath, glancing over to the sleeping redhead. Eyes glowing, he gently played his fingers down Ron's bare side. Warmth poured from the surface of moon light white and Draco momentarily savored it before taking his hand away. There was someone outside the door. Carefully he drew the blanket up over Ron's shoulder and threw his legs over the side of the bed, hissing as his feet met the cold floor.  
  
"Father," he greeted coldly as a slender figure slipped in through the open door. The two Malfoy's appraised each other silently. Lucius' predatory eyes dared his son to move.  
  
He stepped passed the youthful epitome of himself, briefly touching Draco's shoulder with a gloved hand, and approached the bedside, crouching low so that his eyes were level with Ron's constricted face. Smirking in the dark, he reached forward and drew a finger over the young wizard's cheek.  
  
"What are you doing?" Draco was at his father's side in an instant, trembling with anger. "He is mine, we agreed!"  
  
"Don't be foolish, my son," Lucius said smoothly, hand whipping out to grab Draco's wrist in a bone crushing grasp. "I've only come to... *borrow* him. Don't fret, you'll have your pet weasel back in no time."  
  
"You'll hurt him."  
  
"You care? Oddly enough."  
  
Draco stiffened. "Weasly here is the only thing you let me hold power over, father." He ripped his hand from Lucius' grasp and flushed at the amusement dancing in his father's slicing eyes.  
  
"Even though it is set in blood that you will inherit everything one day. This-" he motioned vaguely to Ron "-is as significant as the whores walking the streets."  
  
"He is *mine*."  
  
Their eyes battled before Lucius stood up, fingers closing over the slim shoulder of his son. Draco was raised into the air, glaring daggers at Lucius.  
  
"But *you* are mine, boy. I would suggest you watch your tongue-" he let Draco fall and stepped back, smoothing down his robes "-or I may just rip it out."  
  
"What is the good of a mute son?" Draco snapped, crossing his arms mutinously over his chest and pointedly blocking the sleeping redhead.  
  
Lucius sneered, shoving the boy aside. "I am willing to find out... are you?"  
  
Draco moved to retort, but Lucius calmly lay a finger against his lips.  
  
"Do not shame me more than you already have, my son."  
  
The defiant silver eyes cooled, then dropped. Long fingers curled into fists and shook at silent sides. Lucius smiled in mock sweetness and tapped his son's nose. Then he moved to the bedside again and promptly wrenched the redhead from the sheets by his hair, spilling him to the floor in a lanky pile of flailing limbs. Watching with burning eyes, Draco growled darkly, but held still.  
  
Ron yelped in pain, twisting in Lucius' grip. In a cornered fear he stared up into the man's eyes, hands tearing at the rigid fingers tangled in his hair.  
  
"Up," Lucius ordered.  
  
Ron struggled wordlessly to his feet, shivering in the cold.  
  
Slate gray eyes scraped over his bare form, amusement melting into familiar leering hunger. Ron flinched as Lucius let free his hair and instead moved his fingers to Ron's throat, gently trailing upwards to grip his chin.  
  
"You care for Potter."  
  
Ron stared at him in surprise, then wrenched his chin from the Deatheater's grasp and spat, "Yes."  
  
"I see my son has been using that vow to his utmost advantage," Lucius sneered. "Now it is my turn."  
  
Fear ebbed into Ron's eyes, chipping away at the mutinous fire.  
  
"I suggest you cover yourself, boy."  
  
Lucius made Ron walk in front of him through the halls, his wand trained right between the tensed shoulder blades. The boy stumbled, and Lucius looked down upon the sprawling figure with nothing but disdain. Ron never met his eyes, pulling the thin white robe around his bony shoulders tightly and rising to his feet. In the glowing shadows, he resembled a haunting spectrum wandering in the night.  
  
When Lucius finally pushed Ron through a door to the outside, the boy was forced to stop and let himself get somewhat accustomed to the biting cold. Lucius shoved him and stood statue still as Ron stayed where he was on the ground, fighting back tears which froze on the brims of his lids.  
  
He followed the older man's icy gaze directed over his head. To his surprise, Ron saw a figure detach itself from the inky black shadows and proceed across the silver lawn. As it drew closer, he could make out a dark head of black hair and pale skin. For a fleeting moment his spirits soared and he scrambled to his frozen feet.  
  
"Harry-" he started, but the name died on his lips as soon as the figure showed its face in the full moon's light. Instead of staring into the strong green eyes of Harry Potter, Ron found himself caught in swirling silver that resembled icy peaks in winter nightmares.  
  
"Ronald Weasly," the boy said, his voice rich, and smooth, and deep. Ron was unable to move or reply, just stand there in the cold. Without a word, Lucius bowed sharply and strode away. Something made Ron want to beg him not to leave. Not leave him here alone with this boy.  
  
The boy cocked his head to the side and studied the shivering redhead, a frozen smile fixed his feral mouth. An arctic breeze ran around the both of them, stirring Ron's feather light covering and throwing fiery strands of hair into his eyes. Automatically he reached to brush them away, but his hand was stilled by the gentle pressure of long white fingers. Ron's breath blew uneven and ragged. He stared with clenching fear into the impassive gray orbs, not wanting to move, to breathe, to live in the gaze of those devilish eyes.  
  
"Allow me."  
  
Ron winced as gentle fingers drew the hair from his face, playing over his crown and coming to rest on the back of his neck. He felt them tighten, hard.  
  
"Hush," the boy whispered, drawing close. He stopped when his lips rested against the hollow of Ron's throat. Dry breath colder than the night.   
  
The wispy pewter clouds above circled the moon and began to close in upon the orb of light. Ron's eyes stared unblinkingly into its face, lips shaking with forced breath, whole body wracked with tremors of dread.  
  
"I know who you are," he whispered, eyes still on the moon.  
  
"So you should," the boy thrummed against his throat, lapping at the warm flesh with his forked tongue.  
  
"Harry told me about you. Riddle."  
  
Riddle didn't say anything.   
  
The clouds crossed the moon, thinning the blaring white with a sheen of gray.  
  
"Foolish boy," Riddle laughed, gripping the sides of Ron's face and forcing the frightened brown eyes down. "I am Voldemort!"  
  
Ron's legs nearly gave away. He cried out, twisting violently to get free. Riddle threw him to the ground and stabbed his wand at him, shouting, "Icelius!"  
  
Cold flames of blue erupted over Ron's body, searing his flesh with splinters of ice. He tried to cry out, but the cold traveled down his throat, icing over his tongue, sliding agonizingly through his veins in streams of burning, tortuous ice.  
  
Riddle crouched down next to him, eyes alight with a sick glee.  
  
"Lie still," he crooned.  
  
"What are you doing to me?" Ron rasped through motionless lips.  
  
Riddle didn't answer him. Instead he lifted the boy's arm and lay his mouth against the inner elbow, gently drawing shapeless lips apart. He could feel the muscles in Ron's arm tighten and hear misting breath hitch and catch in frozen lungs. Closing his eyes, he imagined the agony of stabbing panes of ice, and smiled.  
  
"Warm to me," Riddle murmured, and sunk his teeth into Ron's arm. The skin broke away in tiny flakes of frost. Ron's scream of pain flew into the air, a jet of wispy steam, swirling and blending, to disappear unto the cold. Black blood streamed over Riddle's tongue and the bone fingers wrapped around the freckled upper arm; tightening, squeezing, cutting off the cold blood.  
  
Ron met the gaze of the moon and saw with a distant, weary melancholy that the clouds had consumed the light.  
  
Needling pain took his body by storm, plunging through the frozen agony and renewing Ron's dread and hopeless pain. His arm was on fire, blazing with dark, terribly heat. Riddle clawing at his flesh, ripping at his muscle, and tearing at glinting shards of bone.  
  
The night filled with a torrent of sounds. Ron was inside the wound, witnessing the dark blood seeping from between Riddle's lips onto his arm, pooling in the marrow and soaking in the sinew of his flesh. It sunk away, poison. Crimson poured over the ground, over his stomach, over his chest. It dribbled onto his chin from between the lips of the Dark wizard. Sizzled into his mouth, staining his lips a violent red.  
  
Blood flowed from Riddle's mouth, forcing its way down Ron's throat and filling his veins with pumping, beating heat. His bones screamed, the ice cracking with the force of burning warmth, spearing through his skin.  
  
Riddle's blood stained hands pressed over Ron's face; holding his head, cradling his chin, caressing his sunken cheeks, leaving a painted mask of crimson surrounding the glazed brown eyes. Teeth that had torn and ripped gently suckled the over flowing blood on his lips. Forked tongue of snake stirred the poison and the red.   
  
Cold melted from his bones, flooding water through his veins and seeping in barely restrained rivers of liquid from his eyes. Pain still ached through him, but distantly. Riddle was tearing away the white robe now. Pain ebbing away. Red everywhere over him, staining his flesh in crimson heat. Ears stuffed with heavy pressure. The sticky trails of blood down his arm. Pain following his gaze. A patch of clean white on his inner elbow, as if the spot had soaked up all the poison blood.   
  
Through a red tinged haze Ron's reeling eyes fell to his arm. As Riddle ravaged his mouth and chest, Ron made out the black skull and snake standing out in stark contrast to his white skin.  
  
The Dark Mark.  
  
~*~  
  
"Hermione, could you give me another cookie? Just one more, I swear," Harry pleaded, pouting angelically. The aforementioned witch grinned and submitted another of her double chocolate cookies they had been snacking on all afternoon.  
  
"Didn't I tell you I could cook?"  
  
Ron grinned, snatching the box of cookies out of her hands and stuffing three in his mouth. Hermione squealed and slapped him.  
  
"Mmmm," Ron managed through wads of cookie.  
  
"You're going to get all flabby," she warned. "How ever will we win the Cup if you boys keep eating like this?"  
  
When the cookies were gone, Hermione suggested they return to the castle and get an early start on their weekend homework. With much grumbling and griping, the two boys followed, picturing the piles of books and parchment awaiting their careful work under Hermione's scrutinizing watch.  
  
As they crested the rise from the lake, Harry had to stop and itch at his scar. Ron and Hermione looked back curiously at him. When Harry opened his eyes again though, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat.  
  
Voldemort. Right behind Ron and Hermione.  
  
An icy smile trickled over shapeless lips and he fixed them all with his blazing red slits for eyes. Without any preamble, the Dark Lord whipped out his Phoenix tail wand and pointed it straight at Hermione.  
  
"ACCIO SWORD OF GRYFFINDOR!" Harry bellowed out of nowhere as Ron dove in front of Hermione to block the curse that never came. A split second later, low and behold, was the powerful Sword of Gryffindor, which sailed straight into Harry's outstretched hands. Harry then stood in front of his friends and aimed the sword at Voldemort's heart.   
  
"You move, you die," he hissed forcibly. The sword was oddly heavy and sluggish in his hands. Ignoring it, he glanced back at the other two, who were both sprawled in shock on the ground.  
  
"You are a fool, young Harry Potter," Voldemort sneered, "Do you really think an old scrap of metal will finish me?" Then came the chilling high-pitched laughter that made Harry tremble with fear and the sword droop. "Do you, Potter?"  
  
Harry just narrowed his eyes and smirked shakily, the sword wavering in his grip. "No. But *that* will."  
  
Voldemort whirled around and before he could even utter a cry, Dumbledore had stabbed his wand into the dark wizard's chest. The Dark Lord dropped like a stone and lay still. Dumbledore smiled wearily.  
  
"Well done, my boy. If you had not alerted me of Voldemort's presence with the sword, all could have been lost." Harry gave a great sigh of relief and let the sword drop, still gripping it, the point sinking into the grass.  
  
"Can it really be done?" gasped Hermione, staring wide-eyed at the fallen wizard.  
  
"Bullocks," said Ron, his voice quavering. "You saw what I saw." He turned his gaze away, hugging Hermione as she shook in his arms. Harry made to go to them, but Hermione's eyes grew wider suddenly and she yelled, "He's not gone! HE'S NOT GONE!!"  
  
There was a flash of hot white light that hit Dumbledore in the chest and the old man flew backwards.  
  
The Dark Lord rose weakly from the ground and came at Harry, wandless and wraithlike.  
  
Gryffindor's sword whistled through the air and struck Voldemort square in the chest. It buried deep and with a cry of deepest pain, the Dark Lord fell to the ground again, blood spewing from his gaping wound.  
  
Harry let go of the hilt and stumbled backwards in horror, tripping over his own feet and meeting the ground hard, half dragging himself from the thrashing form.  
  
In silence they all watched Voldemort dying. When he had stilled, Harry rose to his feet, shivering as if caught in the barest cold with no cloak. He immediately checked that Ron was safe, then turned to see Dumbledore rising with Hermione's help. Dumbledore assured Hermione he was fine, and she moved quickly to Harry, hugging him tightly around the neck.  
  
"Harry," she mumbled, tears staining her cheeks.  
  
He looked up at her and touched her face.  
  
She looked like a corpse.  
  
The heavy silence enveloped them all and Harry realized with a clenching heart that Hermione had stilled completely. He looked quickly to Dumbledore, only to see the man was just the same.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Avada Kadrava."  
  
Harry had just enough time to see Ron, still sitting on the ground, look up in a flash of green. Then their eyes met and Ron made as if to say something, his hand rising to reach for Harry.  
  
Then the curse struck home.....  
"RON!!" Harry jerked, eyes flying open to the stained red rose in the window. Breathing heavily, whimpering, and coming to realize the intense pain anew, Harry relaxed into the manacles, ignoring the slicing at his wrists and the strain of his shoulders.  
  
Just a dream.  
  
Just a nightmare.  
  
Harry threw his head back and screamed until only the haunting echoes of his torment remained.  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: *still grumbling* Bloody stinky system, bloody stinky length, boody stinky cheese. *snerk* Au revior!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	5. Submission

A/N: Oy. THANX TO....  
**ash: Ummm... *confused* I'm glad, but do you like this story, too?  
**Sheens: *hug* Aww, you're such a love!  
**Kal Kally: Eeg! *laughs* Don't get bored of it! *winks*  
**Kia: Are you an insomniac? *wink* Glad you enjoy it so much!!  
**chimerical: *evil grin* So you like my little forked tongue twist....  
**Rachel M: I hope this chappie will answer your questions!  
**Nightengale: *giggles* We can be evil together!  
**Kenna Hijja: I'm wondering about those questions myself. *sheepish grin*   
  
Chapter Five: Submission  
  
Harry crouched in the meadow, sharp eyes scanning the swaying blades of grass.   
  
Nothing, no one.   
  
The Deatheaters must have been lost in the woods while chasing them. Carefully he rose to his feet, wand raised. A cool summer breeze stirred his hair, cooling the sweaty strands of black slicked tendrils across his forehead. The silence was comforting and chilling at the same time. He wondered where Sirius was and if Lupin's leg had healed.  
  
If they were still alive.  
  
"It was close, wasn't it?" he said over his shoulder, "I thought for sure Malfoy would have cursed us a thousand times before we hit the door." He chuckled. "Thank Merlin for that gigantic stride of yours and my uncanny timing for when to trip and evade hexes."  
  
He didn't blame Ron for not talking. The boy had been silent since the two of them had fled Malfoy Manor. Harry shrugged, his eyes still fixed ahead of him upon the grasses.  
  
"I think we lost them, Ron."   
  
Harry paused.   
  
"Ron?"  
  
He turned around slowly.   
  
Words died on his lips. He stared in horror across the field on the perimeter of the deep woods where his friend was.  
  
Ron's eyes were closed. His frail body, beaten and broken, was curled against the chest of another boy, a tall slender boy with the grace of a deadly serpent. Harry froze in shock, caught in between the sense to attack, to run, or to bargain. Riddle decided that for him.  
  
"Say goodbye, Harry Potter."  
  
"N-no. Let him go! It's me you want!"  
  
Riddle merely smiled.  
  
"Say goodbye, Harry Potter," he repeated, his hands snaking around Ron's torso and tightening. The redhead jerked, his eyelids fluttering madly.  
  
"Please, I'll do anything! PLEASE!" Harry fell to his knees, throwing his wand away and shaking in the sudden biting chill of the slow breeze. The stillness of the meadow weighted down on him, the sound of his tears falling seeming to echo in the quiet.  
  
But Riddle just laughed coldly. Harry sobbed miserably, trying to drown out the high pitch of the wizard's voice.  
  
"Ron," he cried, "Ron!"  
  
All laughter stopped. Riddle suddenly looked impassive, like he were watching a scene of nothing play out before him.  
  
"You wish to have him."  
  
Harry stared with blurry, streaming eyes.  
  
"Then have him."  
  
He shoved the limp body and Ron stumbled towards Harry, falling through the air in slow motion, his red hair waving like a winding river of flowing blood. Harry threw himself at his friend, crying out to Ron as the lanky redhead struck the ground, lying sprawled and motionless. Harry hoped, as he stumbled and scrambled to get to the fallen boy, that the only pool of red surrounding Ron's white stricken face were the locks of his hair.  
  
"Oh, Ron," he breathed, taking the wizard's head and cradling it gently in his lap, fingers shaking uncontrollably as he wiped away loose strands of scarlet hair and brushed the dirt and grass from his peaceful face. Fingers curling into fists, Harry lifted his face from Ron, eyes burning holes into the ground, a flap of black covering his eyes. He could almost *feel* Riddle's smug expression.  
  
Holding Ron closely to him, Harry watched Riddle, the breeze calm again, cool again, soothing and soft again. Strands of hair trickled and danced over his face, waving past his eyes.  
  
The met gaze sizzled in the air.   
  
"I'll kill you. For Ron, I'll kill you."  
  
Riddle only looked on, his head cocked to the side, eyes glinting as if with the searing laughter that still sent tremors coursing through Harry's limbs.  
  
Looking away from his enemy, Harry's expression softened and he touched Ron's face.  
  
"Wake up," he pleaded quietly. "Ron, for me, wake up."  
  
Still aware of Riddle's scorching glare, Harry shook his friend, leaning close. Choking down a sob, he pressed his lips to Ron's, shivering at the cold he felt. The stabbing, icing cold draining from Ron's stiff mouth into his.  
  
"Wake up."  
  
The breeze stilled. Harry leaned back, opening his eyes. From behind the hot blur of tears, he swam into the clear focus of Ron's face.  
  
Ron's eyes were wide and staring at him.  
  
"You're awake!"  
  
Ron didn't move. Then Harry noticed the slight curving of his mouth, growing from a small, playful smile into a smirk. It spread over his mouth like foul poison, changing his face, the leering grin trickling into his eyes that burned like acid. Harry gasped, cry choked off as a long fingered hand whipped up from Ron's side to crush his throat.  
  
Then Ron's frozen, ice chipped leer broke and a sound, ever so soft, drifted from between his lips. So quiet at first, then building and building into a horrible roaring that filled Harry's ears with a screaming, screeching storm of high-pitched laughter that crashed in the sky and wracked at his bones with the white fingers tightening, harder and harder over his throat, cutting off his air supply.   
  
With frightened green eyes, Harry was pressed back into the grass, staring up Ron. The wizard's face was contorted and mad with a livid, disdainful rage that pulsed down through his arms, lending him strength that crushed Harry's throat.  
  
Ron hunched over the fallen hero, his face close and cold to Harry's. The breath pouring from his mouth reeked of death and decay, his teeth gray and rotted. Rasping drily and screaming through red shot eyes, Harry struggled vainly, fingers clawing at Ron's unyielding grip.  
  
"You must say goodbye, Harry," he whispered, "Say goodbye to me."  
  
And he crushed his lips to Harry's just as the boy's lungs gave way.  
  
"Goodbye, Harry......"  
  
//His body constricted violently, tugging at the stiff chains. "No," he moaned, "No..."//  
  
O_o_O-o_O_o_O  
  
"Trust me," he murmured, lifting Ron's chin and kissing him softly.  
  
"Trust is for fools," Ron replied breathily as his hands were raised above his head and pressed to the wall.  
  
Draco chuckled, grinding his hips into the other wizard.  
  
"I've taught you well," he purred.  
  
Moaning, Ron arched back, nibbling on Draco's lower lip, hands twisting weakly to get free. The blonde smirked coyly and caught Ron's lip with his teeth, free hand scraping down Ron's bare chest to rip at the waistband of the redhead's pants.  
  
"Please...."  
  
Arching an eyebrow coyly, Draco withdrew, snatching his fingers from Ron's grasping hands.  
  
"We'll be late," he pointed out smartly.   
  
"You torture me," Ron growled, catching Draco's hands and dragging him back into his arms, kissing him softly.  
  
Laughing, Draco pushed at the lanky arms wrapped around his waist. "You won't know what torture is until you're late for the initiation."  
  
Frowning with a sour, childish expression, Ron let go of the blonde sulkily. He followed the other wizard down the hall, grudgingly admitting to himself as they progressed that he had just been stalling. The fear he truly felt became apparent to him as Draco stopped in front of the black wall, pressing his stark white hand to a faded stone and whispering to it. With a click, the stone feel away with his touch, followed by the others and creating a man-shaped entry way.  
  
Inside, Ron stuck close to the blonde, tiny quivers racing over his skin. Draco smiled with amusement at him over his shoulder, laying a gentle kiss on his shaking lips and drawing away as Ron leaned forward for more.  
  
"Stop," he warned, suddenly serious. Ron paused, staring around him in scantily clad terror.  
  
"Wait," he begged as Draco turned to go. The Slytherin looked back at him, then at the hand tightly gripping his wrist. Grimacing, Ron let him go and watched with disdain as Draco melted into the shadows of the vast room.  
  
Blackness.  
  
He felt the ominous presence before he saw the Dark Lord. The Mark on his inner elbow burned and froze at the same time, tingling the surface of his flesh. Clenching his hand, Ron kneeled, head bowed.  
  
Fingers of bone white curled through his blood red tresses. His breath caught in his throat as the ceremonial dagger was pressed into his hand. Through a veil of hair, Ron peered up into the infinite dark, unable to see, yet able to sense the Dark Lord near to him.  
  
Taking the dagger tightly in his hands, he held it high above his head and then brought the point own, drawing it over his face and making a clear crimson mark from the beginning of his hairline to the tip of his chin. Blood stung with the sweat, trickling over his face, dripping from his jaw. Echoes chased themselves faintly around the chamber, melting into silence again. Silence except for Ron's heavy breath.  
  
He looked up through hazy red eyes to see a sphere of light haloing Draco. Behind Draco, as if the puppeteer playing the puppet, was Voldemort, looming far above them in a towering power that filled the room. Ron dropped his eyes again, listening distantly to the words Draco chanted to him which he repeated in a faint, weak voice.  
  
Then Draco came near to him, holding a goblet beneath his chin and catching the streaming blood. In the light pouring from his body, he looked like the beautiful Angel of Death. The goblet was lifted away from Ron and taken a few steps to where Draco raised it into the dark, shouting at the top of his lungs. Then he threw the goblet into the dark and the shadow of the Dark Lord flared instantly, than disappeared.  
  
He knew what was to come now.  
  
Taking the dagger in quaking hands, Ron directed the point to rest against his bare chest, right at the area of his heart. His hands shook so intensely that the razor edge sliced his skin before even any pressure was provided.  
  
Draco bared his Mark, pressing it into Ron's face.  
  
As Ron plunged the dagger deeply into his chest, his tongue darting out to lap at the black Mark, wiping over the living skull and leaving a trail of wet warmth over the glittering eyes of the serpent.  
  
Needling pain speared through his heart and Ron screamed into Draco's flesh, stabbing the dagger deeper and ripping it to the side, downwards, upwards. The Mark on Draco's arm began to glow and Ron drew from it, his teeth gnawing at the white flesh, tears staining the Mark with virgin tears as the blood ran from his chest freely, cascading down his torso and painting the floor in violent beauty.  
  
Draco's Mark glowed a poison green as Ron drew away from it, kissing it once more. His fingers, bathed crimson, trailed up his torso, slowly, jarringly, and gripped the torn, ripped, cut flesh still weakly protecting his heart.  
  
His fingers sunk between the flap of muscle and skin, spreading a numbing agony throughout his whole conscious. Gritting his teeth, Ron gripped the hunk of flesh and with a sharp cry, tore it free from his chest cavity, spewing steaming blood and innards.  
  
And there upon the floor before him, pulsing and beating with life, was his living heart, lying in a pool of bubbling blood.  
  
His body had gone numb. For a moment he thought that he had died, yet when he attempted to move his hands with little hope, they indeed complied, and closed gingerly around the beating organ, lifting it weakly into the air.  
  
Draco backed away silently, clutching his arm in stiff pain.  
  
Ron rose to his feet, knees buckling. He held his beating heart in his palms, streaming blood, now blackened and dark with the diminishing light shrunken from Draco's countenance. Ignoring it, he dragged himself forward blindly, the whites of his eyes blank and the moaning of his voice animalistic and haunting.  
  
The Dark Lord's ghostly hands reached out of the dark and cleanly plucked the beating heart from Ron, snatching it back into the blackness.  
  
In the silence hence, Ron barely heard the smacking, chewing, ripping sounds of the Dark Lord consuming his living heart.  
  
"My soul...." he breathed, "My heart......"  
  
High pitched laughter tore the air.  
  
"All mine....."  
The moon's pale blue light bathed Ron in a cool brilliance. He thrashed once, twice, the sweat glittering over his constricted brow. His legs were trapped in a wild tangle of sheets, arm wracked with unimaginable agony, skin etched in the black poison rushing through his veins.  
  
He reached upwards into the night, to the moon, eyes closed, streaming crystal tears that glittered like precious jewels. The deathly pallor of his skin seemed to drink in the silver of the moon.   
  
From beside him, Draco watched in stricken silence. He lay trapped, Ron's free hand wrapped around his arm in a bone crushing grasp, thumb stroking over the empty eyes of the Dark skull.  
  
~*~  
  
He was gone again, damn him.  
  
Draco sat up, glaring angrily at the empty space next to him, at the slightly shadowed indent of a lanky body that barely moved anymore. Groaning with the sleep clinging sluggishly to his limbs, the blonde wizard dragged himself from the cold bed and dawned a dressing gown, eyes heavy, yet mind sharp with an anger even *he* knew was pointless.  
  
Ever since Lucius had taken him, Marked him, done only Merlin knows what, Ron had been nearer acting like a zombie than the defiant youth Draco had been so drawn to. Yet there was no point in asking Lucius what had happened. Draco knew. He had seen Ron's arm, his eyes. It was himself who took Ron's limp, corpselike body to the bath and cleaned away the dried blood, who shook his shoulders and gently wiped the sides of his cracked mouth with a cloth. Draco who had drawn a finger over the dark, ugly mark on the freckled skin.   
  
What struck him was that he himself didn't even possess the Mark yet. Lucius said he had not come of age. But Draco knew for a fact that when Lucius was three years younger than himself, he was given the Mark. Dismissing any more thoughts on it, Draco paused in the midst of a step, his eyes glued on the far wall, dancing with jagged shadows. He narrowed his eyes, a glittering gold in the torch light, and cautiously walked up to the crooked tapestry, fingering the frayed end where someone had ripped the cloth. Throwing caution to the wind, he drew the scene of battle back to reveal a doorway leading down into the murky dark of the Manor's depths. Puzzled, Draco stepped inside the darkness, his senses bombarded with the tangy sharpness of old water and moss.  
  
"Father never showed me this before," he mumbled under his breath, eyes scanning the closed-in walls and ears pricking at the echoing, empty dripping of water from the arched ceiling hanging low over his head. Reaching up, he walked along while touching the ceiling with his fingers for guidance, lighted wand aimed far up ahead.   
  
After going a little further, Draco stepped hard into shallow pools of slime. He rewarded the puddles of muck with a few choice words before continuing onward through the passageway, shaking his feet and wringing out his robes darkly. Yet it was all in vain, for the water became a steady flow and soon he was wading through dense liquid reaching his thigh.  
  
Draco continuously trekked through the tunnel, noticing distantly that the path was turning, sometimes leading to stairs slicked with tiny water falls. Stepping lightly, he went down all of them, and then spotted a patch of light. In amazement, he stared up the vast stretching walls of stone, cragged and broken, and seeping rivers of water plummeting down hundreds of feet to fill a huge cavern of echoing stone.  
  
And there was Ron, huddled in a ball. The redhead was half floating in a round pool of water, his face to the stone. Draco rushed to him, plodding slowly through the tiny pools, dunking under, surfacing, and coughing.  
  
Ron's hair flowed around him as dark as old blood. A lantern (Merlin knows where he got his hands on one) glowed faintly beside his deathly white hand. Draco gripped his torso, lugging him from the water and laying him out on his back. Confused, Draco felt for a pulse, pursing his lips when he felt one, strong and steady. Then he looped one arm around Ron's shoulder and got to his knees, just about to stand when he noticed something that made him stop.  
  
Ron's ribs stood out over his sunken stomach, scars and bruises dotting the skin stretching over the visible bones. His jutting hips were scratched and bleeding, a dark gray patch spreading over his shoulder to his ribcage. Draco stared at the naked figure, at the blood under the fingernails, at the matted red hair, the deathly pale face, gaunt form.  
  
The only place that was clean of bruises or dirt was where the Dark Mark shown in its twisted, alluring way, cackling maliciously at its diminishing host.  
  
Emotions of sadness and anger ran through his veins in a torrent of heat. Anger at Weasly's weakness, sadness at the dying body. Anger at his father, and a sadness for himself. He knew what it was Ron was going through. The young wizard was refusing to succumb to the Mark, and so it was slowly eating away at him.  
  
"Give in!" he yelled into Ron's ear, shaking the boy roughly and laughing madly at the way his unconscious head lolled limply from side to side.  
  
His laughter chimed and chorused against the walls of the cavern, bouncing back to him in a chilling, taunting way.  
  
"You're dying," he told Ron hissingly, thrusting the boy to the ground hard and wincing as the back of his skull cracked on stone.  
  
To his surprise, Ron actually stirred. His fingers twitched, and his chapped lips shifted, emitting rasping breath that drifted feather light across Draco's face.  
  
"You need the air, Weasly," Draco said bluntly, hefting Ron over his shoulder and half dragging the taller boy from the underground world, casting furtive glances back at the oddly lightened cavern he had found Ron in.  
  
Back in the hall, Draco lay his load carefully on the ground, glaring at him with anger that was not even directed at the boy, but instead at himself.  
  
Deciding then to keep his knowledge of the tunnel from his father, Draco repaired the tapestry and aided Ron again back to his room. As the boys sunk into the bath, Ron requiring Draco's assistance in staying above the surface, the redhead whispered something, as faint as the dwindling autumn breeze.  
  
"Dost thy heart fail beat within the lightless night...."  
  
~*~  
  
"I don't feel well."  
  
"I don't care. Get up."  
  
Ron stared up at the blonde, shivering. He was clinging to the sheets, knuckles bone white and bloodless, eyes wild.   
  
"Please, I don't want to." His eyes flicked to the window and he whispered in a low, terrified voice, "I don't want to go out there. I can't."  
  
"You can and you will."  
  
Ron lay huddled in the grass, back up against a tree as Draco gently stroked the brow of his prize bird. It was an absolute brilliant day for falconing, yet the fresh bite of the wind and the energetic tension emanating from the birds did nothing to affect Draco. His attention was divided.  
  
The redhead was running his fingers over the crags and indentations in the wood, nails tearing at the bark as if trying to escape from something. All of his movements were slow, jolting. From where he stood out on the crest of the grassy hill, Draco could barely make out the boy's muffled whimpering.   
  
"I shouldn't have come..... I *shouldn't* have come-"  
  
Growling under his breath, quick eyes scanning the low summit of the incline, Draco murmured hushed words to his falcon, gently untying its hood and thrusting his arm upwards, sending the majestic bird of prey into flight. It spiraled up into the air just as three beautiful pheasants ripped from the ground in a frenzy of brilliantly colored feathers, streaking the air with crimson and green.  
  
From the base of the tree, Ron watched them soar and dive from beneath his red fringe, brows knitted, fingers curving into the nail marked bark. His mouth worked silently and he trailed the flying beasts with his eyes higher and higher up into the air until Draco's falcon dove at a lingering pheasant, hitting it like a bullet with a dull crack that stung the air. As they plummeted down to earth, Draco's bird ripping and clawing at the wriggling pheasant, Ron climbed to his feet, staggering forward.  
  
The birds crashed at his feet in a flashing array of feathers. Draco's falcon was thrown from the thrashing pheasant and Ron was left alone staring down at the bleeding body and the mangled wing.  
  
With a fixed expression of dreamy reverence, Ron cocked his head to the side and reached down to the ground like a toddler and lifted the dying bird into his arms, cradling it gently, staring with empty eyes into its terror.  
  
Draco had hooded his bird again, setting it on a stand he had brought with them. Cautiously he approached the other wizard.  
  
Ron had pressed the bird to his chest, petting its broken wing and running his fingers through the fluffy down feathers, turning up the speckled colors to reveal burning skin beneath run over with tiny rivulets of blood. He paused and glanced up at Draco, who took a wary step backwards at the boy's unearthly appearance.   
  
The pheasant began to flap its good wing, pounding it into Ron's chest again and again. Its light body twisted and struggled, head buried in the fabric of Ron's shirt. A tiny spout of blood appeared over the cloth from the piercing yellow beak, veining out. Black claws glinting in the sunlight tore at fabric, ripping it into shreds. But Ron had thrown his head back, hands digging into the pheasant's back.  
  
Eyes widening, Draco started forward, but Ron whipped his face up, crazed grin causing Draco pause. His wild eyes were veiled thinly by his red fringe, yet still burned and scorched Draco's gaze. Silver eyes dropped to the pheasant, who's struggles now grew weaker and weaker as the redhead held it tighter and tighter to his chest.  
  
"Let it go, Ron," Draco breathed, eyes still on the bird, "Just let it go."  
  
There was no answer, only the snapping of the pheasant's already paralyzed neck. Then silence.  
  
Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Draco could detect a spasm of Ron's long shadow splayed over the grass. He looked up, half expecting Ron to be tearing at the bird, yet saw the boy gingerly holding the bird away from him, staring at it in horror.  
  
"I've killed the thing," he said dismally.  
  
"Yes," Draco agreed carefully, "You have killed the thing." He paused. "Though it was dying already, you just ended its pain quicker." He was slowly getting closer to Ron, taking tiny steps, eyes fixed on the boy.  
  
"I've smothered it."  
  
"It was in pain."  
  
"No!" Ron threw the corpse to the ground, staggering away from it, sobbing hoarsely into his arm, the other arm thrown over his eyes. "No!"  
  
He tripped over a root from the tree and feel heavily to the ground, face skidding in the dirt, hands clipping the curves of arching roots.  
  
"No," he sobbed, curling up into a fetal position, "No!"  
  
Draco watched this display of suffering in silence. The other birds he had brought along shifted, unnerved, on their perches. His prize falcon was watching him blindly through its hood, blood still dripping from its sharp beak and still staining its down feathers and talons.  
  
"NO!" Ron's voice had risen to a screaming pitch and he scrambled away from Draco and the bird corpse, half dragging himself as he barely made it to his feet, stumbling into the nearby woods on the start down the opposite side of the hill. Caught momentarily between his falcons and the fact that Ron was escaping, Draco uttered an oath and tore after the redhead, squinting through the shifting shadows and speckles of sunlight dancing over the trees. Once every few minutes he saw a flash of scarlet, and would quicken his pace.  
  
Biting his lip and climbing over a falling tree, Draco reached into his pocket and dug out his wand, hefting it up as he leaped over a loose branch.  
  
"Damn it," he growled, tripping on a rotting tree, momentarily loosing sight of his quarry. His knee stung on impact with the ground and he bent his silvery head, breathing hard. Glancing back, he cursed again, realizing how far Ron had led him. "Damn!"  
  
The only thing he could still follow, as he limped along, were the faint cries of the fleeing wizard. Letting the anger flood his veins, Draco drove on, his wand up and ready to curse the redhead the first second he was within reach.  
  
"That bloody fool," Draco snarled, tripping yet again over a fallen tree and stumbling into a clearing filled with golden sunlight. Shielding his eyes, Draco realized the silence and paused, anger dissipating into caution. He jabbed his wand blindly in front of him, unable to see due to the intense sunlight and dots flashing before his eyes. Blinking, he slowly let down his arm and squinted across the bright clearing.  
  
Ron stood in the middle of bare patch, standing still as a statue in a pool of golden light, head thrown back, hair sliding over his one bare shoulder where his shirt was ripped, one arm still thrown over his eyes.  
  
Draco, wand still held steadily, narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
The addressed boy stayed perfectly immobile, even the quaking of his frame had stilled. Draco lowered his arm, wand hanging limply at his side.  
  
"Ron!"  
  
Slowly, so slowly, the redhead turned on one heel, as if he were a rotating statue. When he was fully facing the wary blonde, Draco noticed the fixed, strained smile stretched over his lips. And as he lowered his curved arm, Ron's face was slowly revealed, tiny smile changing into a blaring grin.  
  
Draco's pale eyes widened, windows of frosty glass in the light.  
  
"Ron-"  
  
The wizard cut the other boy off with a sweep of his hand, sending a sharp stone sailing through the air, his aim set true and striking Draco on his wand wrist, flinging it from his long fingers.  
  
Clutching his wrist in pain, Draco saw with mounting terror that Ron had started to come towards him, slowly, as if he knew there was no way Draco could ever escape. And somehow, Draco knew it, too.  
  
Ron's slid his hand over Draco's cheek, cupping the side of his face in a firm grip, his thumb gently pressing at the clammy skin. Sweat beaded over the boy's creased brow, sliding down his face. Still grinning with an insane emptiness in his gaze, Ron withdrew his hand, running his tongue over the moist skin. His eyes never left Draco's face, holding the other's gaze, trapped.  
  
Panic spreading throughout his nerves, Draco came to his mind and flinched, crying out and vying for a free sprint.  
  
But a bone crushing fist connected with his jaw, sending him spinning to the ground where he lay stunned, breathing heavily into the light dust of the dry ground, one eye running with tears from dirt.  
  
Fear nearly overriding every other sense, Draco whimpered as a hand, bloody from his split lips, gripped his shoulder and forced him onto his back so that he was lying flat and facing the sun, eye burning, other stinging with clods of dirt. Then a shadow crossed his vision and Ron's face suddenly came into shadowy view, still bloody smiling, though the foul curve of his mouth did not affect the flat nothing in his eyes.  
  
Ron stared into Draco's dirty, sweat smeared face and watery eyes. He lifted a hand, pausing as Draco flinched, and brushed back several damp strands of white hair. His skin was ice cold.  
  
The light haloed him, throwing his features into complete darkness as spots of light danced over his countenance. Draco bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately turning his head away as the redhead settled onto his hips, straddling the smaller boy, taking his wrists in one hand and deftly pinning them above his head.  
  
He kept his eyes closed, uttering a small, muffled cry as icy lips were pressed to his and a freezing tongue stroked his teeth. Ron's free hand trailed to his neck and gripped his throat just enough for Draco to have to gasp, throwing his mouth open to suck in air. Snatching the opportunity when it presented itself, Ron delved his tongue into Draco's mouth, digging his head back into the ground, teeth crushing against teeth.  
  
The sun blared above as Ron ripped away Draco's shirt with inhuman strength, scraping his nails down Draco's flawless chest and leaving four angry stripes of red.  
  
Draco's hitching gasps echoed sharply about the clearing, haunting, Ron's deep throated moans drowning them out as he ground into the smaller boy roughly, nails digging into his frail wrists.  
  
The young Malfoy struggled in vain to free himself, twisting and clawing at Ron's face hands, finally wrenching them free and scratching his face, wriggling out from under the redhead and rolling to his feet, hair mussed and lips bruised, jaw already swelling. Ron's eyes followed him, brimming with the blood streaming down his face. He rose to his feet easily, noiselessly, smiling. Draco's eyes flicked to his wand. Could he make it?  
  
"Try," Ron hissed, leering at him. Draco took an unsteady step back.  
  
Without any preamble, Ron crouched and sprang at Draco all within the space of a second, tackling him hard to the ground. The blonde fought back tooth and nail until Ron twisted his already wounded arm behind his back. Draco stilled, half arched into the air, wanton face contorted with pain.  
  
Ron slowly lowered him to the ground again, pressing his face into the dirt, other hand rubbing up his white back.  
  
Just as he was about to clutch the back of Draco's neck, though, his movements were disrupted by a loud pop, whereas Malfoy senior poured from the air and bellowed, "CRUCIO!"  
  
From the ground Draco watched as Ron writhed and screamed, clutching his head, the unearthly sound jarring Draco's nerves. He glanced up at his father out his one good eye. Lucius' face was void of any emotion as he held his wand steady. The man approached Ron slowly after a few minutes, squatting down next to the thrashing body and waving his wand.  
  
Ron quelled his agonizing throws, chest heaving with heavy breath forced from his tortured lungs. He looked up at Lucius, fingers curling and uncurling at the sight of him. There in his eyes lingered the insanity which brought the violence flooding out of him. When those eyes turned to a weakly standing Draco, the blonde clenched his jaw and looked away, cheeks burning at the wheezing laughter issuing out from between Ron's frozen lips.  
  
"Draco," said Lucius, looking at his son with an icy glare, "Go back to the house."  
  
Without a word and cradling his dead arm, Draco obeyed.  
  
Lucius turned back to Ron. Now the youthful face had grown young once more and washed with innocence streaming tears, shaking hands covered in blood clutching his face, limbs crushed against his shallow chest, painful sobs gusting into his hands.  
  
The man smiled coldly and looked up into the sun.  
  
"Master, I think it due time we reunite them."  
  
A/N: *snerk* This fic is SO weird! Seriously. I don't know where all of this is coming from. *giggles* You know, it may be good for me! I've been a lot peppier lately, most likely because of all this dark venting. ^_____^ Fwee. *sheepish grin* I know I may be overdoing the confusing dream sequences, but understand I am only trying to illustrate the power Riddle holds over the boys, and it plays quite a part in this story. Which of course is a rather vague prediction/observation on my part, seeing as this twisted tale has been primarily taken over by my muses. *grin* I have no mind of my own, I suppose. Dernnit. *hug* Au revior!   
  
~*Villain*~ 


	6. Velvet Lies Part I

A/N: THANX TO...  
**KIm: Yeah, it WAS a touch confusing, but that's just the way it comes out. *hug*  
**ash: What do ya mean, 'he acted weird'? *wink*  
**Sheena: Hope you're well, lovey. *crosses fingers* Get your comp back on line! *hug*  
**Jane: Powerful? *tickled pink* Why, tanku! *grins*  
**Nightengale: *shrugs* Just so long as you liked it! Gee, I better read it again. *guilty*  
**GLEH: Why, yes CB, how StRAnGE.  
**Rachel M: I know you miss Ron, honey. We all do, but that's the way dark fics go. *sob*  
**Kenna Hijja: He attacked Draco because the Mark was trying to make him do horrible things. Since he already held some major contempt for Draccie, the Mark chose to press its power on him in that direction since that would be the easiest way to break him. Thank you so much for your reviews, they really help! *hug*  
**Day: Happy ending? *evil grin* This is my first dark fic EVER, so I need to do Dark right!  
**Shelly: 'Spooky'? *blushes* Thank you!  
  
***Sorry for the delay!!***  
  
Chapter Six: Velvet Lies (Part I)  
  
It wasn't so bad now, not really. They had released him from his chains and put him here in this cell where he was given water and bread by shy house elves. Thinking back to a certain elf with huge green eyes and an uncanny love of socks, Harry smiled weakly in the gray light, picturing Dobby when he had last seen him, smiling and holding up a small tattered cap for Harry to look at.  
  
Dobby had been killed shortly after that Christmas. Most of the free house elves were killed. Only the enslaved ones remained. To see them again, Harry was brought back to the past: Of warm fires and friends. Hermione's laughing speech on how the pile of books Ron received as a gift would do him rightly. Dobby and Winky sitting among their presents.  
  
Christmas at Hogwarts, the last he would ever see.  
  
The faint scent of spices and crackling fires caressed his senses. He reached for the flickering colors, his hand brushing the red tinsel hanging from the tree...  
  
A dead weight hit him in the stomach and Harry curled up in a ball sharply, tucking his head into his chest. There was a great amount of heavy breathing and wheezing in his ear before whatever was thrown onto him scrambled back and clawed at the bars of the cell.  
  
"No! Let me out!"  
  
Ron.  
  
He stared at his friend; his best friend who was seemingly unaware of his presence. His best friend who pounded upon the bars with sharp cracks of his fists, screaming after the receding Deatheaters. His best friend, Ron.  
  
Swallowing slowly and wetting his throat enough to speak, Harry croaked out Ron's name, dragging himself into a sitting position, gingerly holding his ribs where Ron had been thrown on him. The sight of the redhead whirling around to stare brought energy flowing back into his limbs.  
  
With a startled gasp, Ron ran towards him, nearly stumbling to his knees in front of Harry, eyes brimming with tears. Harry looked at him closely and saw a very worried Ron shaking on his knees before him, his brown eyes wet and trailing fresh rivers of tears down the heavy traces of older cries. Tentatively Ron reached forward and brushed grimy tendrils of hair from Harry's face, giving his friend a weak smile.  
  
But Harry's eyes were now fixed on his arm, face completely blank. Ron paused and leaned forward in concern. Wishing Harry would speak, he held his friend's face.  
  
Harry shoved his hand away and scooted back from him, scathing gaze burning into Ron.  
  
"Bastard," he hissed, "Traitor!"  
  
Ron held his hand to his chest as if burned. His look of shock melted into defensive anger and he blinked furiously at the tears threatening to spill.  
  
"That is not fair, Harry. I-"  
  
"Had no choice," Harry finished bitterly.  
  
"You don't understand," Ron pleaded, "Let me explain!"  
  
Shooting the redhead a withering glare that clearly stated his opinion on the situation, Harry tried to get to his feet. The least he could do was go stand fuming in the corner. As he stood though, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. Forgetting himself, Ron rushed to Harry's aid. Harry suffered a wave of dizzying nausea, and was forced to rest his head back on RonÕs warm shoulder, closing his weary eyes. The burn of rest was sharp, soothed only by Ron's long fingers, cool and smooth, moving over his face and his sweaty brow.  
  
"Let me go," he said calmly after regaining a little of himself. Ron stared down upon the dark crown of his head, confused.  
  
"But you're hurt."  
  
"I've been hurting for days. Yet you wouldn't know the feeling, would you? Who knew you would give yourself over so quickly. Now get your hands off."  
  
Shocked into silence, Ron let Harry push him away and then sat leaning back on his hands in a numb stupor, allowing Harry's words to soak in. Him, give in to Malfoy and the Death Eaters? How could Harry think that when all along Ron had done this for him?  
  
"Can you even comprehend what has been happening to me?" Harry's voice was rising swiftly as his eyes shown in the dim light filtering through the window, spotted with particles of dust. "Can you imagine the pain I've felt?"  
  
Ron stared at him, lost.  
  
"And you... you with that bloody Mark on your arm! Is that why you wanted to get out of here so bad? You knew you couldn't even face me! You coward!" Harry stood over Ron as if he were to strike him, but Ron heaved himself to his feet and shoved Harry roughly, wincing as the boy slammed back into the bars with a clang of bone on metal.  
  
"You think me a traitor!?" he screamed. Harry shrunk back against the cell door, his gaze guarded. Ron could tell the wizard was in pain, but then he didn't care. He felt used, abandoned, alone.  
  
Harry slowly pushed away from the bars, standing up rigidly. The boys faced each other in silence, tension buzzing through the air. Ron clenched his teeth, wanting only to hold Harry, to let him know that all would be well. Instead he was facing Harry after shoving him. What had he done? And what was this feeling he felt in the Mark, a slight tickling warmth spreading over his skin.  
  
"You've been corrupted," Harry murmered, as if realizing something substantial. "I bet you got us caught on purpose! How long have you been Voldemort's little lap dog? Eh, Ron? How long!!"  
  
That was it. Something inside the redhead snapped and a crimson haze clouded his eyes. He leaped at Harry, barreling into him, a solid whir of bone and muscle, bowling the other boy over back into the bars, crying out as his fingers were smashed against metal. Harry clawed his back, pushing him to the ground and jumping on top of him, slow reflexes from hanging so long doing nothing to affect the weight of his blows.  
  
Ron's face was bloody mess by the time he managed to fix his hands around Harry's throat and squeeze enough so that other boy stopped hitting him and focused on loosening the fingers. Blinking the blood from his eyes furiously, Ron brought up his legs and landed a heavy blow into the middle of Harry's back with his knees. As the other boy fell into him, Ron flipped him onto his back, grabbing Harry's flailing wrists and pressing them into the middle of his chest.  
  
The fight had stopped, silence yet again filling the air with its ever presence, dust settling around the boys as thepanted roughly. Harry lay on the ground, struggling to breath under Ron straddling him, eyes closed, hands clenched together around Ron's, white to the knuckle. Above him, Ron sat hunched over, blood still streaming down his face, sniffling through his bloody nose, already feeling it as his eye was closing up from a hit, wound packed with dust and dirt from the cell floor.  
  
After his lungs had stopped stretching and aching for breath, Ron got off of Harry, leaning heavily on the wall, forehead pressed into is arm, saliva and blood dripping from his bleeding lip, breath still stinging a little through his throat. The tingling had left his arm he noticed as he heard the sound of Harry picking himself up.  
  
Ron turned around slowly and fixed Harry with a pleading stare. His friend dropped his gaze and started to approach Ron. Fully prepared to defend himself, Ron pushed away from the wall and held up his fists, chest already constricting. But Harry only lay a hand over Ron's fists, wrapping his fingers tightly through his friend's. Ron lowered his hands warily.  
  
"Just tell me," Harry said flatly.  
  
Anger still clouded Ron's brain, but he fought through the red haze and rested a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, looking with steady eyes into his friend's hard gaze.  
  
"To betray you would be to take my own life," he said. Harry watched his face for long moments before he stepped very close to Ron and abruptly put his arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly. In the silence that followed, Ron felt a moist warmth on his chest and embraced Harry in return, burying his face in the coils of black hair.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, "I just don't know anymore. All of this is just a bad dream, not reality. But this pain I feel is real enough. Just like that Mark on your arm, Ron." He raised his eyes. Their breath touched each other's lips softly. "Merlin, I hurt you." He gingerly touched Ron's eye, but the redhead took his hand away.  
  
"Your fear hurt me," he replied somberly.  
  
"Excessive torture can do that to you," said Harry wryly, settling into Ron's embrace. "Merlin, this feels good."  
  
Ron fought back a new wave of tears and gripped Harry's hand firmly. "I'm not going to let you hurt any longer. As long as I'm here to protect you."  
  
Harry leaned back shakily. "Don't talk like that, Ron! *You* don't do anything. Just keep yourself alive." He chuckled, coughing weakly. "I think I can take care of myself, Ron." Squaring his shoulders determinedly, Harry said with conviction, "What can they do?"  
  
Ron shuddered. "I can only imagine." He let go of Harry and leaned back against the wall. Standing for a moment in the cold, Harry took a deep breath and tucked himself into Ron's arms again, lowering his eyes.  
  
"Cold," he muttered. With a tiny spark of life in his eyes he grinned up at Ron, then his grin faded as he noticed several old scars not caused from their tiny brawl. Tracing a jagged cut along his collar bone gingerly, he asked, "Did he hurt you?" The bruise surrounding the cut was ugly and purple, swollen and blossoming over Ron's neck like a patch of dark cloud in a blue sky.  
  
Quickly taking Harry's hand away, Ron shut his eyes and rubbed his cheek against the cold white fingers.  
  
A shot of rage wedged itself in Harry's mind. He suddenly felt a great longing for Ron to smile at him and for him to wake up at the Burrow with Hermione talking on and on of unfinished work, or Ginny giggling about boys, or the twins over visiting from their shop, playing tricks on the whole household, and the older brothers all sitting at the kitchen table with their parents, drinking tea and just talking about the day and the days to come.  
  
Now that he looked at Ron in the full gray light, he realized that his past was gone, like a fragile flame doused in the wind. Gone. Ron looked beaten and fatigued, as if he were wasting away from the inside. He held onto Harry like a warm skeleton, the tears draining his life away.  
  
"It's eating you up," he whispered, mostly to himself.  
  
"What?" Ron questioned faintly, open his eyes as if very drowsy. Harry could feel him getting heavy in his arms.  
  
Holding Ron up by his shoulders, Harry stared him straight in the face.  
  
"Ron, if you don't give in, the Mark will kill you."  
  
Those words, dropping like vile poison, brought Ron's eyes to an odd brightness. The look on his face was of many things, but most of all it was of a betrayed anger.  
  
"How could you even-"  
  
"Listen to me," Harry whispered hurriedly, his eyes flicking to the cell door in case of any guards, "The only way I'm getting out of this place is with you, Ron. You understand me? We have to work together, and take some risks."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Hush," countered Harry softly, laying his fingers against Ron's lips, stilling his voice, "I want you to listen to me, Ron. And think."  
  
Ron slowly nodded, eyes wide.  
  
"We can deceive them, Ron. Trick them." Harry's eyes were shining oddly. He turned away from his friend and began to pace the room. "It's dangerous, but we've dealt with worst before, eh? They thought to weaken us by bringing you here, Ron, but it was the mistake that will end their lives." He was speaking faster and faster, flashing Ron quick glances, fingers moving over his lips, blurring his words. "I can hold Voldemort off as long as it takes, Ron. As long as I have hope." At this he stopped and faced Ron full on, looking intensely into his eyes. "I'm going to let Voldemort in, Ron, and you will do the same with the Mark."  
  
"Are you mad!? It's been hard enough-"  
  
"Maybe you can just control the powers! Everything can be controlled. Everything. Don't you remember what Professor Lupin once told us? Dark magic is only controlled by the witches and wizards who are most determined to use it, and it's used for bad mostly because those who seek its use are so determined in their greed. Don't you see? We want our freedom. We can reign the powers if we want it enough." He was pacing again, all around the cell. "For our friends and for our families, we can do this, Ron!"  
  
When he looked at Ron, expecting a face filled with determination, he was instead rewarded with a face even paler than before, eyes filled with panicky fear.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"I can't give in," he whispered. "I can't!"  
  
"But why? Don't you see this might be our only chance?"  
  
Ron fell to the ground, hands slapped over his ears. "No! No!" Dark images flashed before his eyes; of a bloody beating heart, the black power filling the room like thick smoke, the pain of himself pushing the blade of the dagger deeper into his chest... "No!"  
  
"Stop it, Ron! Stop it!" Harry gripped Ron's wrists, trying to tear them away from where they were gouging into his chest and ripping at his flesh. He pressed them to the ground.   
  
Ron twisted and kicked at him, screaming. He could feel and see the blood bubbling over his skin, filling the cell, washing over Harry's frantically calling mouth, cutting off his air... a terrible living heat crushing his lungs.... Red seeping beneath his skin, soaking into the marrow of his bones.  
  
"NO! Not that, anything but that, please!"  
  
"Ron!" Harry slapped the boy, snapping his head to the side. The last faded remnants of his outburst fizzled into nothing out the cell window, drifting off on the wind. With green eyes filled with worry, Harry shook Ron's shoulders, patting his face, rubbing his arms which were covered in goose bumps, iced over in cold sweat that soaked his shirt.  
  
"Harry, Harry, I can't," he whimpered, "I can't. You don't understand, Harry, I can't."  
  
"Yes, Ron, you can. I don't know what they've done to you, but it's only to make you cower under them. No-" he shook Ron as the boy began to cry again "- you listen to me. They want to control you, Ron. But you're too strong for that. How the hell do think you've survived so far? Especially the way you've risked your life so many times. You're a hero, Ron, and heroes just don't quit. You can beat whatever is destroying you inside, and we can both be free. It's trying to poison your mind, make you weak and its slave. What I'm telling you is to give in, but only just so much. Ron, listen to me. Don't close your eyes, Ron. You're too strong for this, and you can beat it. The power which is looking to control you can just as easily be controlled."  
  
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall. Harry craned his neck and swore under his breath, looking hurriedly back to Ron, still gripping his shoulders.  
  
"Promise me," he hissed, "Ron, promise!"  
  
The guard shoved open the door and started toward them, followed by several others, their faces hidden by black hoods. Harry pleaded with Ron one last time, leaning close to his friend, holding onto him desperately as the guards tugged at his back.  
  
"Ron, promise!"  
  
Ron's eyes flew open when a guard's gloved hand closed on the back of his neck. As the boys were pulled apart, their fingers twined, eyes meeting heatedly. Ron's lips parted and he mouthed one word before the guards tore him away.  
  
"Promise."  
  
A/N: *rolls eyes* Yet again, I've been a little careless on my chapter length. So this is another two-parter. Forgive me. *humbly bows* I just had an uncontrollable writing spurt after being under the influence of Writer's Block for so long! *sob* 


	7. Velvet Lies Part II

Chapter Seven: Velvet Lies (Part II)  
  
Draco had been watching him for hours now, sitting out there alone in the chillingly beautiful gardens, brilliantly colored head bent in deep thought. But what could the boy be thinking of? Potter most likely. Missing him, yearning for him. Draco clenched his fist, stirring the light dust on the sill of the window. Cold stone bit at his flesh, yet he didn't notice in the least. His eyes were glued upon that pretty red head, fixed upon the long fingers curling around a pale arm; gripping, holding there. Back shuddering in... what? Fear? Pain?  
  
It wasn't as if Potter thought of Weasly. He couldn't, not after Voldemort had cracked him open, so to speak. Draco remembered watching from the shadows as Potter was dragged past by silent, gliding Deatheaters. Ron had been left in the dungeons for another two nights. 'To rob him of his bite,' Lucius had said. It seemed to have worked, for the boy had not acted too oddly since his attack when they had been falconing. He had not acted like anything. His eyes were empty, fixed on the floor, always staring. Never speaking. Draco had avoided him at first, but slowly he realized that Ron seemed to be a walking corpse, as if nothing were inside of him but air. Empty, stale air.  
  
Pushing away from the window, Draco paused as Ron rose from the stone bench he had been sitting on. Narrowing his eyes, Draco watched while Ron ran his fingers through his hair and looked up towards the Manor. In a panic, Draco dropped to the ground, then chided himself for his foolishness. Ron couldn't see him anyhow. Upon rising back up to his feet to peek over the sill, he saw that the redhead was nowhere to be found. Cursing himself, Draco ran along the halls, bursting out the first way he came to (a window) and sprinted across the grass, eyes skimming the vivid greens for a splash of red or white.  
  
He dove headlong into the winding holly trails, dodging hidden statues and fountains, leaping over more stone benches and skidding through the poison ivy. Leaning against the stone archway, Draco breathed heavily out his heaving lungs and glared wearily at Ron, who stood facing him, standing beneath the dropping blanket of Weeping Willow branches, face blank as the sky.  
  
"Where do you think you're going? Without me, you could fall into one of the hidden pits, or alert the hounds."  
  
Ron blinked at him slowly, then turned away, fingers still grasping his arm in a rigid grip, the skin around them red and clotting with blood. His knuckles were bloodless and bone white.  
  
Draco smoothly ducked under the covering of spring green and regarded Ron with cool impatience while the redhead lowered himself onto the ground and sat just so, able enough to peer through a long vertical gap in the hanging branches, staring out into the distant gardens.  
  
Quick anger pushed aside any lingering doubts about Ron and Draco swiftly went to his knees at Ron's side, resting his hands softly one over the other on Ron's bony shoulder. He then leaned in very close to Ron's ear, breath stirring the stark red locks, and hissed maliciously, "You're almost gone, aren't you?"  
  
He slid up against Ron's back, fitting himself to the other boy.  
  
"I'll have to wake you up in there," he purred. Ron shifted only slightly. Draco gripped his chin and turned his face sharply, pressing his hot lips to Ron's cold ones, delving his tongue into the wet crevice. His eyes bored into Ron and finally he saw a faint stirring in the boy's brown eyes. Gaining confidence, Draco pushed Ron onto his stomach, laying neatly over him. Beneath him he heard a small gasp, as if someone were awakened harshly from a dream. He chuckled, picturing the delicious look of fear etched into Ron's face. Draco ground into the other boy, snaking an arm around the shallow chest to anchor him. Ron made a hushed sound in the back of his throat, and the blonde drew back, smirking.  
  
Ron's fingers scraped over the grass as if at a loss. His shoulders were tense, back tight. Draco kneaded the flesh with a fist, running his tongue over Ron's ear.  
  
"You a virgin then?"  
  
At these words whispered harshly to him, Ron shrank away. Draco only gripped him harder, free hand dragging up from the hard chest to crane his neck over so that the frightened brown eyes were next to his own. They were shut tightly. With a tiny smirk, Draco swept his tongue over the closed lids, tasting faintly of salt. The long body lying prostrate beneath him suddenly twisted, if only enough so that Draco noticed he had the wizard squirming. Ron gripped the grass as if it would lift him away and wrenched his face from Draco's fingers to bury it in the ground.  
  
It suddenly hit him that the redhead had become most deathly pale. The pallor of his clammy skin sent the rusty gears in Draco's mind slowly turning and it suddenly dawned on him like a splash of ice water in the face.  
  
"Potter," he said in disbelief, expression melting from shock into an irked amusement. Ron half turned his face and Draco could see the rosy sweet lips parted in guilty surprise. Catching him unaware, Draco shot his head forward and ravaged that sweet mouth lying open to him, tasting with every stroke of his tongue the sadness and vulnerability of his redheaded prisoner.  
  
Ron cried out, turning his face away sharply, gasping for breath through bruised and swollen lips.  
  
"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself, Ron," Draco taunted, lifting himself up on his knees to drag Ron over on his back, then sat up and ground heavily into the redhead's hips. "Was Potter rough with you?"  
  
"Stop," Ron begged, hands pushing at Draco's hips, hair matted and sweaty against his scalp, dirt lining his jaw.  
  
"Why don't I just go to Potter himself and ask? I'm sure he'd be positively giddy to tell me all about it."  
  
"Please," Ron gasped, clutching at Draco's shirt, "Don't tell him! Don't!"  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes and sat back, looking at Ron searchingly.  
  
"You seem almost frightened of the idea," he wondered aloud. "Why is this?" His jaw tightened. "Did he force you?"  
  
"No," Ron whispered brokenly, still pushing weakly at the blonde's stomach.  
  
"Now you have me interested, Weasly," Draco said in a drawling voice, "Tell me what this is all about or I will go to Potter and ask *him*."  
  
Ron stared at him. "But why?"  
  
"Because I want to know," Draco retorted bitingly, grabbing the collar of Ron's shirt and dragging him up so that their breath meshed in puffs of steam.  
  
Tears ran freely from Ron's eyes. His hand had wandered back to his arm again, fingers going to twine tightly over the limb.  
  
"It was at the party after graduation in Hogsmeade," he started quietly, dropping his eyes.....  
  
.... "Ron, where did Harry get to?" Hermione squeezed through two groups of drinking wizards to ask Ron, who really didn't have a clue.  
  
"I saw him with Padma, then with Lavender. Then I think I saw him talking with the twins about their joke shop and giving Alicia the eye." Ron laughed. "He's drank with half the party already, hasn't he?"  
  
Hermione pursed her lips and Ron quickly sobered.  
  
"I'll look for him then," he said humbly, struggling to escape Hermione's hard eyes and hands itching to rest on her hips in the natural McGonnagal stance.   
  
"You do that, Ron, and see that he dunks his head in the ice bucket a few times before we go, will you? I'll expect both of you home before the night is through, Ron. I've yet to say goodbye to just a few people, then I'll be waiting."  
  
"Yes, Hermione."  
  
She smiled at his unassuming expression and kissed him on the cheek.  
  
"You boys have fun. Just remember not to get yourself robbed or mugged, or murdered, or married," she said lightly, smoothing her fingers over the collar of his robes. Ron took her hand and kissed it gently.  
  
"Hermione, we always come back."  
  
"Oh, I know I'm being foolish. But..." she trailed off, looking around them, then back to Ron with tear sparkling eyes. "Ron, we've really made it together."  
  
"Yeah, that we have."  
  
She gave him one last hug, then walked away, her petite form melting into the mass of bodies until her bobbing curls disappeared out the front doorway. Ron watched her go silently, gripping his drink a little too tightly, mind off in Neverwhere. He was about to take a sip, still watching where Hermione had stood, when someone went barreling into him, knocking his drink all over his front.  
  
"Bloody-" he turned to confront the person and was presented with a very drunk Harry. Two witches he'd never seen hung on either of the young man's arms.  
  
"'lo Ron!" Harry called into his face, breath reeking of spirits. Ron rolled his eyes, shaking the liquid from his hands and shooed the two girls away, dragging Harry through the crowd by the scruff of his neck, waving to their friends and finally pushing the drunken wizard through a nearly invisible door leading to a quiet side room where the old stores were kept.  
  
He listened patiently as Harry prattled on and on about his evening thus far.  
  
"And then Roselyn, that brunette from Ravenclaw, went and dared me to take off me - my - mine - mike glasses and-" he hiccuped loudly and shot off on another story which involved several young women and one rickety table.  
  
Ron looked around, barely paying attention until Harry's words became quieter and his slurred sounds were tinged with sleep. At this time Ron knew his friend was about to either pass out or start singing.  
  
"The night is young! And you're so beautiful-"  
  
"I think we better be on our way, Harry," Ron told the singing wizard gently, sliding his arm behind his back to support him out the door, but Harry pushed at him.  
  
"Security!"  
  
"Harry! You've had twelve too many drinks. I think it's time to get you home."  
  
"Listen here, Betsy, I like it there at the ranch."  
  
"I'm sure you do."  
  
"I do. I just said that."  
  
Ron rubbed at his eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping over his bones. He could still hear the party going outside and knew very well that he would have to sneak Harry out if anything, seeing as everyone knew the boy and insisted on giving him more drinks.  
  
"Come on now, Harry. Let's get home to Hermione before she comes back looking for us."  
  
That seemed to get through to Harry somewhat and the boy grudgingly followed Ron (keeping a firm hold on his robes) and went to the door where Ron started out. But at the last moment Harry yanked him back and sniffed his front, glaring up at the tall redhead suspiciously.  
  
"You have-" he hiccuped grandly "-all over your robes. You should really take them off now before you catch Malaria."  
  
Despite the fact that Ron could never indeed catch Malaria from drink spilled over his robes, he allowed Harry to push him back further into the room and sit him down on a tall barrel. The shorter wizard never drew back, leaning heavily into Ron's front, breathing in the moist scent of booze. Ron looked down on his ebony crown and absently stroked his hair. Harry shook his head, glaring at Ron through tendrils of black with swaying green eyes. The redhead took his hand away and smiled at his friend, wondering if he would have to wait until Harry actually fell asleep before taking him from Hogsmeade altogether and back to Diagon Alley where they were staying with Hermione.  
  
So Ron stayed up on the barrel, arms supporting the weak-kneed wizard mumbling into his robe front. His eyelids were drooping by the time he felt Harry go completely limp, and nearly lost his friend to the floor before getting a tighter grip on his shoulders and hefting him to his feet. Head bent downwards so that he could look Harry straight in the eye, Ron frowned, lightly slapping Harry's cheek. Lazily one green eye opened and Harry let out a huge yawn right into Ron's face, reaching up and digging them into Ron's hair. Still blinking, he lowered his hand and pressed them to Ron's front, remarking in a slightly less slurred tone of voice, "You're still soaked."  
  
"It'll be fine. We can use my extra Portkey, since I doubt you're in any right mind to Apparate."  
  
Harry scratched his head and looked at his friend hard as if trying to shape words to speak.  
  
"I don't want you catching Malaria."  
  
"I won't catch Malaria," Ron assured him. He grinned down at Harry, who's frown only deepened.  
  
Ron moved toward the door, but Harry caught his hand. Brown eyes flicked up in surprise to meet steadfast green shining in the dim lights seeping through from the outside. The Weasly joined Harry in frowning and regarded the other man with confusion. But before he could think to speak, Harry wordlessly moved his fingers over Ron's front, pulling the buttons of his robes undone. Ron made to protest, but was silenced by Harry's look.  
  
When he had finished, Harry touched Ron's chest hesitantly and lowered his eyes modestly.   
  
"All dry."   
  
Wondering what the bloody hell could be happening, Ron shrugged his robes back onto his shoulders.  
  
"Okay, maybe you've had twenty too many drinks. Harry, we really should go. You know how Hermione gets if we're late. She'll have us doing the dishes with no magic for weeks." He paused, furrowing his brow at the expression Harry had on his face. "Harry?"  
  
"In this light, you're eyes look like they have fire in them." Harry drew a quivering thumb over Ron's eyelid, brushing past his lips and letting his hand come to rest on Ron's chest.  
  
Baffled, Ron took a step back from Harry, glancing at the door his friend was currently blocking.  
  
"I know you've wanted this for a while," Harry said carefully, his head lolling to the side with an angelic expression as he trapped Ron against the wall with either arm blocking an escape.   
  
Ron stared at him in surprise, unable to speak.  
  
"I always thought that your face flushed from anger when Malfoy would say those things about us. But I found out something different."  
  
Ron's heart was sinking very slowly. He was petrified.  
  
"You would watch me in the showers and lose yourself. No one would see you stare but me."  
  
Ron had pressed himself to the wall so tightly that it was as if he was trying to become a part of it. Harry had gotten very close, and the wavering green eyes had fixed on Ron's trembling mouth.  
  
"And I've always been curious..." Harry grinned and his legs gave way, sending him crashing into Ron's quick arms. The shorter wizard threw his arms around Ron's neck and pulled his face down so that their lips met in a hot and hurried kiss. Ron froze as Harry drew back a little, enough to nibble on Ron's lower lip and press the redhead's fingers to the front of his robe, rubbing them over the loose buttons.  
  
At first Ron thought to just take Harry home by force and put a stop to this torture he knew was not true. But then again, Harry had just pressed Ron's hand inside his robes and was guiding it slowly down his torso.  
  
Their breath caught in time and Ron looked up with flaming cheeks to view Harry's flushed face and open mouth, sweet eyes closed.  
  
It was then his reasoning fled from him and Ron took Harry in his arms, pushing him to the floor and shedding the rest of his clothes. There in the dark he did what had been his dream for years.....  
  
..... Ron looked at Draco with a tear streaked face, pleading hope in his eyes. Draco was sitting very still, hand remaining clenched on Ron's collar, cutting into the wizard's neck.  
  
"When I woke up, it was morning and Harry lay asleep in my arms. I could already see the dark circles starting under his eyes and I knew right then that I had made a horrible mistake. So I quickly took him out of there and back home where I managed to bathe him and put him to bed before Hermione got to us."  
  
"I wanted to know."  
  
Ron furrowed his brow, wary. "What?"  
  
Draco uttered a biting laugh, grip tightening over Ron's collar.  
  
"I wanted to know. Didn't I, Weasly?"  
  
He let go of Ron's collar and looked hard at the redhead, eyes very cold.  
  
"You still want him like that. For him to want you-"  
  
"Stop."  
  
"For him to yearn after your touch-"  
  
"Please, stop it."  
  
"For you to lie over him and hear your name ripped from his throat!"  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
"Well, I assure you, your wish will come true," Draco growled, standing up sharply and turning away from Ron.  
  
The Gryffindor lay back on his elbows, a numb, sick feeling like grease and water spreading through his stomach. What did Draco mean? Thinking to sway the Slytherin's anger, Ron reached forward to brush Draco's arm, but the blonde whirled and caught his wrist, yanking the redhead up, sneering at Ron's painful cry.  
  
"You want to hear your name upon his lips, do you?"  
  
Ron struggled to twist away.  
  
"You will hear your name screamed, again and again. He'll look into your eyes and want nothing more than you to hold him."  
  
Ron sunk to the floor, his wrist turning white.  
  
Draco gazed down at him cooly, eyes blank as his face. Then he roughly pulled Ron to his feet, barely giving the redhead time to steady his balance before turning and striding purposefully out into grass, dragging Ron behind him.  
  
And Ron knew, with a terrible realization, that he would be seeing Harry again very soon.  
  
~*~  
  
The tiny balcony just fit the both of them standing. Draco shoved Ron's hands onto the banister and pressed them their, his eyes drawn to the wide room laid out before them in shadows. Ron followed his gaze and saw a vast floor of colorless stone, dark purple curtains hanging on dull walls. No doors, or windows. This place held an ominous feeling that Ron felt down to the very morrow of his bones.  
  
From the opposite side of the room, shapes drifted from the dark niches, tall figures swathed in black. They made their way slowly across the floor, lining up against the short wall to the balcony's immediate left. Ron watched as more and more hooded figures streamed steadily into the room, as if oozing from the walls to stand in strict rows of ten. By the time the last row settled, there were at least a hundred cloaked bodies in the room.  
  
"Deatheaters," Ron said to himself quietly, and Draco jerked his hand, hissing for him to quiet.  
  
From their vantage point, the two wizards saw as another row of Deatheaters entered the giant hall. They separated into smaller columns with three on each side of one wizard in particular. Ron felt a distinct chill as the small wizard in the middle paused in his light steps and glanced up at the balcony. Beside him, Draco sucked in his breath, white fingers tightening around Ron's hand. Then the wizard resumed his regal pace and stopped at the head of the gathered group, hood facing straight forward, hiding the white face Ron had glimpsed, covering the silvery eyes and inky black hair from view.  
  
Blood was already running cold in Ron's veins. He became ill as several more Deatheaters strode in, two of which held in their arms a limp Harry Potter. The figure leading the way had his hood down, shoulder length blonde hair a ghostly white in the darkened light.  
  
Ron flinched as the two dark wizards dropped Harry unceremoniously to the ground in the center of the room, and the boy huddled down inside a pool of unearthly light. His head was down, buried in the floor; his hair, caked and dirty, splayed about his sharp face. Even from so far away, Ron could see bruises littering the boy's naked arms and legs, cuts splitting over the beaten skin and heating infections started to boil the blood.  
  
Lucius Malfoy, the only one with his hood down, kneeled in front of the shorter wizard, bowing his head. Silver strands matching the cold eyes that watched him slid over his shoulders, exposing his arched neck. Ron wished he were the one standing over the man, so that he might end all this suffrage.  
  
"Lucius," hissed the voice, rising above the tiny wind of many breaths like a streak of fire through snow.  
  
"Yes, Master," said Lucius slowly, raising his gaze to rest on Riddle's hand, which lay at his side, the first two fingers twitching slightly, as if the young Dark Lord were anxious to move, to act.  
  
"You have it."  
  
"Of course." Lucius stood and motioned to someone in the shadows. Ron peered into the dark, and jerked back as a grisly, dead hand emerged, cragged fingers with their rotting nails clutching the long handle of a yew pole. And on the end was the long flaming blade of a scythe. Blue flames lapped at the metal, tipped in a vicious white. The hand holding the strange weapon was followed by a towering Dementor, his withering breath ringing hollowly through the wizards gathered, reaching up to Ron and scraping at his face, digging into his mind.  
  
The Dementor approached Lucius, gliding over the ground in cold silence, capturing every beings' sharpest attention and holding it, controlling the beat of their hearts with every rattling breath it took within the confines of its hood. Lucius' jaw tightened, but he held his ground when the Dementor came close, lifting the flaming weapon for the wizard to take.  
  
After it had glided back out, Lucius turned to Riddle and inclined his head, hefting the scythe up in the air. Riddle drew his hood back, baring his smirking face to the dim, blue glow. With a steady hand, he gripped the edge of the blade, cleanly slicing his hand with a hiss of steam, and all present watched as blood ran over the metal and was consumed in the flames, turning the blue fire a poisonous green.  
  
In the middle of the room, Harry had raised his head to watch through one swollen eye. His expression was blank, marred, and bloody. His other eye was slashed through and bleeding down his face in a mix of pus and blood, half of his lid hanging down wetly upon his cheek.  
  
Ron could barely look at him without feeling bile rise up in his throat. How long ago had it been when those lashes on that lid had brushed Harry's cheek while he slept? How long ago since those eyes could tell a story? A tear dripped off of Ron's chin and struck his hand, sliding between he and Draco's entwined fingers.  
  
Riddle was smiling widely as he drew his hand away, casually licking the blood clean. Lucius took the blade back and turned away, twirling the weapon artfully in his hands, eyes fixed on the huddled figure of Harry Potter, a hungry smirk pouring up into his eyes.  
  
Behind him, the Dark Lord had tucked his hand away in the folds of his cloak, also watching Harry intensely. The look on his face did not differ from Lucius', beside the fact that his silver eyes were almost black, tongue tickling at his upper lip in anticipation.  
  
Ron was completely helpless. Draco had moved up behind him, trapping him in his arms. The blonde's chest pressed into his back, rising and falling steadily. His sweet breath caressed his ear, sliding down his neck. Ron shivered. Draco's warm breath chilled him.  
  
Color flooded his cheeks and he turned his head, the corner of his mouth just touching Draco's furrowed brow.  
  
"What-"  
  
Ron's question was stifled by Draco's hand and his face was forced back to look out over the ceremony before him. After a few moments, Draco let go of him, keeping his hand loosely draped across Ron's chest.  
  
Lucius had moved closer to Harry, the same hungry look in his eyes. The boy was looking up at him, mouth slack, a trail of drool pooling on the ground, his head cocked to the side, one good eye facing straight up.  
  
"He looks like a child," Ron whispered, conscious of Draco's lips curving up into a smirk. "A helpless child."  
  
"They've beat the real thing out of the Boy Wonder."  
  
Ron dropped his gaze, gritting his teeth, fists digging into the stone.  
  
"How can you let this go on."  
  
"Why would I want to stop it?" Draco inquired darkly.  
  
"You can't hate him so much. It isn't human."  
  
"Pain is human, Ron."  
  
Though confused by the Slytherin's reply, Ron did not continue to speak. His eyes had fallen on Harry again, now that Lucius stood right over the boy, leering down into his face, the flaming blade of the scythe hovering inches from his quivering lips.  
  
Merlin, Harry, he thought frantically, What can I do?  
  
Lucius tilted the scythe and drug it across Harry's cheek, slicing cleanly through the skin without any bloodshed. It was as if the scythe blade consumed the blood as it fell.  
  
"It is as I wanted it," Riddle said. Lucius picked the weapon up and set it standing on the ground. He put his finger near the flames and watched with a detached interest as they licked his skin clean away as if a cloth wiping away paint. Then he calmly withdrew his hand and held very still. All those gathered behind him, including Riddle himself, stayed quiet as Death while the blade continued to burn with the green fire, now tinted with red and a touch of silver.  
  
"Master," Lucius began, turning, the scythe spinning on its base like a swiveling head, face contorted with hunger for blood.  
  
Riddle turned to face the Deatheaters lining the wall behind him. With a wave of his hand, each pulled up the left sleeve of their cloak, baring white arms dancing in dim shadows from the fire. Then the wizards, row by row, met Lucius halfway from Harry and laid out their arm to him, the Mark blazing into the face of the fire like an old friend.  
  
By the time each had been sliced upon the Mark, spilling dark blood into the maw of the blade, Ron's color had drained from his face, and any feeling had left his skin. Draco held him tightly, yet his attentions were on his father, sharp and focused; a young wolf watching the pack swarm over a victim.  
  
Steadily the blade's fire grew stronger, more solid. Beneath the fire, something black began to form. Ron realized that there had never been metal under those flames, only fire. And the blade that was being created right in front of his eyes was made from the blood of each Deatheater, Riddle, and Harry himself.  
  
A living blade, thirsting for more life.  
  
Ron stiffened when Lucius finally held up the finished blade, sleek and glinting black in the dark light. It held an evil that was so deep, so dark, and so alive that Ron felt the thrum of its hunger in his very bones.  
  
Yet Draco didn't seem too concerned. He held Ron closer and muttered in his ear, "He's not ready. That blade won't cut until Potter is completely broken and his spirit is gone." As he finished, Lucius raised the scythe over his head and, with a mighty swing, brought it down upon the head of the Boy Who Lived.  
  
Ron saw the world in slow motion. The blade sunk through the air, a whir of black light. Harry's white face flashing, one green eye reflecting the darkness in pools of emerald. Darkness of emerald turning to stare into Ron. Lucius' look of triumph. Riddle's sneer.  
  
"Ron-"  
  
White flames erupting just at the tip grazed Harry's brow, bursting forth into a fountain of multicolored brilliance, littering the young wizard in sparks. Lucius swung an empty handle and it cracked onto the floor, the reverberating sound jarring Ron's mind as it reeled. His name upon broken lips?  
  
"He is not yet ripe for the cut," Riddle remarked blandly, his lips curling as Harry weakly touched his forehead where a small spurt of blood flowed. For moments, he seemed to glow with whiteness, all over him. Riddle then whirled on his heel and left the room, pulling up his hood, a river of Deatheaters following in silence.  
  
Lucius crouched a few feet away, head bowed, using the short pole for a rest.  
  
Harry looked at his fingers, then he looked up at Ron. Their eyes met.  
  
"Ron," Harry whispered, yet Ron could hear it scream in his mind. That eye screamed.   
  
Warmth; tiny, yet bright, faintly glowed in Harry's eye. He pressed his palm to the floor, struggling weakly to his feet, eye never leaving Ron's face. Its brightness beamed and Ron could feel it wash over him, wash all the darkness away. That dying in his eye disappeared for fleeting moments and it was bright again, fresh again, full of life. But it was all too soon to hope.  
  
With a falling sensation, Ron watched as Harry's eye went out, darkening. His legs gave away and his body flew back. Ron cried out to Harry as the boy struck the ground with a dreadful crack, his one eye still fixed on Ron, still gazing into him as if asking why he was not there to hold him and protect him.  
  
Lucius stood over the boy, wand trained on his chest. Harry was lifted into the air, floating like a corpse in water.  
  
Ron barely saw Harry being taken away. He was staring hard at the floor, already littered with tears.  
  
His left arm burned and he gritted his teeth, fingers tightening over the hold they had on his arm, holding fast to the Mark.  
  
The Mark.  
  
Ron stared at it blankly. And it stared back.  
  
"Draco," he whispered.  
  
It stared back.  
  
A/N: I thought this chapter could have been much more powerful. Ah well. *puffs up to her full height of 5'1"* Now, before you start lambasting me about the whole virginity thing, did I ever REALLY establish that Draco and Ron had had sex? I mean, the full bloody monty? *hurriedly looks back* Wow, maybe I did kind of hint. *in a jam* Well. Urm. Forgive me. Be patient with my teenage senility. *sob* I couldn't think of a smoother way to.... okay, okay. Maybe I messed up, but before I knew it, there it was on the page without my knowing!! *glares at guilty muses* Yeah, I think we know who's fault this is! Aha! *shifty eyes* Au revior! 


	8. Shatter

A/N: THANX TO....  
**Jadea: *tickled pink* My work is addictive! *snerk* And I can't do a full smut scene because of site rules. *pout*  
**KIm: *grin* Thanks!  
**GLEH: Merci, dearest Pickle, merci bocoup. Vive la cher GLEH.  
**sheeep: *laughs* I'll try and be as sexually graphic as I can, promise! *evil grin*  
  
Chapter Eight: Shatter   
  
"Again," Ron growled. The empty room mocked his voice. He took a deep breath and sank to the floor, his legs pulsing with the painful rest they had yearned for since he had started working this morning. Idly his fingers tapped over the marble floor, his left hand numb to the bone. Pausing, Ron glanced up, trying and failing to blow damp strands of hair from his eyes. Annoyed with the sweaty red tendrils plastered to his forehead, he shook the sweat from his brow and ran his fingers back through his hair.  
  
With gritted determination, Ron dragged himself to his feet, squaring his shoulders, loosening the taught muscles in his neck and back. For a few seconds, the room itself stretched and the air seemed to yawn. Ron shut his eyes, breathing evenly until the dizziness abated.  
  
"One more time," he begged himself, raising his left arm and reaching it straight out before him, fingers splayed. With his other hand, he clasped the back of his fingers, steadying both shaking limbs enough so that one the tiny pictures he had drawn on both gloves could be seen. It was a messy drawing of Harry, all cock-eyed and overblown. Ron smiled at it. When Harry stopped nodding at him, humorous features etched in white chalk stilled, Ron closed his eyes, filling his chest with the musty air of the tower chamber and letting it out slowly enough so that his lungs began to protest and tighten.  
  
The gloves on his hands made of the thinnest dragon hyde were sticky and hot against his skin, only the fingers that were free icy cold. But Ron ignored any sensations except for the tinniest thrumming he felt emanating from his left arm; Basing at the inside of his elbow and tracing down his veins to flow through his hand in tiny black rivers. He hated to see the stark black lining his palm, and that is why he sported the worn pair of gloves he had found while wandering the corridors of Malfoy Manor.  
  
Focusing all his attention strictly on his left hand, Ron narrowed his eyes, lip curling. He felt it slowly at first, than grow stronger like someone slowly chipping away at the block of a dam. More and more until Ron could feel the dark power circulating freely throughout his bloodstream. Careful not to lose concentration, he pressed his right hand to the back of his left harder and delicately drew the left hand baring the power over so that it was aimed right at the opposite wall where there sat a harmless vase on a tall table. Closing his eyes, Ron pictured the vase, then pictured a long black serpent winding around the vase, tightening its deadly coils until the frail porcelain gave away.  
  
The sharp sound of shattering glass stabbed through him and he gasped for air, stumbling back to the ground and landing hard on his left palm, which sent shooting pains up the raw limb. Clutching it to his chest, he stared with eyes wide as saucers. The vase was just a small pile of dust drifting in a cloud around the table.  
  
Ron looked down at his hand, which rocked with tremors against his chest. His heart was beating a million miles a minute, and a horrible pain had stuffed up in his head. Limping and still nursing his arm, he made his way from the room, down the winding staircase and back to Draco's chambers where the boy still slept.  
  
Quietly so as not to wake him, Ron snuck past Draco and slipped into the bathroom, shedding his clothes and tucking the gloves away, but not before he lingeringly touched the tiny drawing of his best friend.  
  
He heard Draco stirring behind him and hurriedly made sure the gloves were hidden inside the hollow statue of the serpent mermaid, whirling around guiltily just as the sleepy blonde walked in still rubbing the night from his eyes. Draco noticed Ron and paused, taking in the half naked redhead with a piqued eyebrow.  
  
"Early start," he commented wryly, eyes traveling down Ron's trembling body with an odd expression. Ron shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
Draco's gaze lingered for a moment before the boy stretched languidly like a cat and began to wash his teeth. Afraid to move lest Draco notice the insistent jerking of his hand, Ron stayed and watched the Slytherin as Draco routinely rinsed any remaining sleep from his eyes, while popping a small tablet into his mouth, ridding him of any morning breath. Tossing one to Ron, Draco wiped under his arms and the back of his neck, always one to wash before getting into the bath.  
  
Ron chewed the tablet, cringing as the minty foam flooded his mouth, trickling out the sides. From the sink, Draco made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and tossed the redhead a towel, eyeing Ron with an amused expression.  
  
He managed to wipe the foam away, brow still furrowed with the frustration of modern magic. Setting the towel aside, Ron looked up and found himself gazing into Draco's eyes, lips warmed by the touch of Draco's tongue.  
  
Firmly remembering his promise to Harry, and the realization that Draco played a vital role whether the boy knew it or not, Ron leaned back, wincing slightly as the sharp hand of the serpent mermaid dug into his back, as if taunting his secrecy. Closing his eyes, Ron gingerly slid past the mermaid, stomach clenching as he heard the statue shift. The noise was luckily drowned out by Draco shoving him back onto the counter, hitting Ron's head none too gently against the mirror. With a flushed face, Ron glanced back at his own reflection, blushing deeper at the pouty swelling of his lips. Turning away in shame, Ron looked back up at Draco, who now straddled him neatly, nimble fingers picking at the clasp of his pants.  
  
As Ron was laid out sideways against the mirror, flesh pressed to the cold glass of mirrored flesh, he saw Draco eyes gazing at the mirror, gazing at him. Ron couldn't help but gulp hard down his throat, terrified. Then, slowly, predatorily, Draco leaned forward and caught Ron's lips in a sharp kiss, grinding his hips into Ron's and smirking when the redhead whimpered, the brown eyes fixed helplessly on their reflection.  
  
Coyly Draco drew his tongue down the middle of Ron's chest, dipping it into the redhead's navel. Ron bucked, hands tangling in Draco's angel soft locks, tugging gently on them and bringing the blonde's lips back to his, mouths devouring each other. Draco rubbed against the other boy, grinding, panting, whispering into Ron's ear as the wizard whimpered under him, hands still locked in Draco's hair as if they didn't know what else to do.   
  
And always beside him, Ron could see his own face, his expression that of bewilderment. How could he do this? Yet this is what he had to do.  
  
Throwing his head back, hair slapping against his shoulder blades, Draco's mouth fell open, eyes rolling shut. Ron gritted his teeth, writhing against the marble surface, eyes flickering back and forth between Draco's mirrored bliss and his own helpless pleasure.  
  
~*~  
  
Draco slept beside him, head resting on a crooked arm, while the other limb was wound loosely around Ron's waist. Tense and silent, Ron held his breath as he slid from the blonde's embrace, coming weakly off the marble to stand on shaking legs. The serpent mermaid leered at him, her long silver fingers tipped in venomous spikes bidding him to come, to retrieve his secret and away to taunt the Darkness.  
  
Back inside the tiny tower chamber Ron found peace easier, his body loosening with one shallow breath. He bit his tongue, tugging the gloves (still damp from the last practice only hours before) into place, suddenly melancholy at the stark contrast of the black gloves and his white fingers. Dismissing the thought, Ron clenched and unclenched his fists, rolling his head on his neck and lifting his feet. With a tiny smile, he reflected on how he must look like a muggle street fighter. Chuckling hollowly, Ron glanced at the diminished powder of the vase and recalled the strange feeling to crush something to dust. It had felt.... elevating.   
  
Shaking his head, Ron settled into stance again, focusing this time on the tall table which the vase had rested on. Carefully letting the flow of power increase bit by tiny bit, Ron put a dent in one of the legs, rocking the table slightly. He suddenly had the urge to send the table crashing into the wall. The intense desire rose up in him like a tidal wave, droning through his head like a thousand angry bees, their stingers piercing the skin over his left forearm, as if trying to puncture his flesh and release the power it withheld. With a mighty thrust of will, Ron ripped his hands from the air and fell back against the wall, chest heaving, gaze dancing with tiny spots of vibrant colors.  
  
"Maybe I shouldn't push myself," he mumbled, getting to his feet, holding his arm as if it were dead weight.  
  
There again was Harry's face, the crooked frames of his glasses matched in foolishness by the wild lines of hair and the messy bolt scar. Ron pressed the back of his hand to his cheek and felt a rush of energy. Pushing up to stand again, he focused once more on the table, and several times after until he lay crumpled against the wall, gasping and sweaty, arm completely useless, and the table full of dents.  
  
Swallowing down a dry throat and immediately struggling to breathe again, Ron looked down sidelong at the motionless Mark. It sneered at him, the snake's eyes glittering as always.   
  
"I will beat you," he told it.  
  
~*~  
  
"Give him a serene environment."  
  
"Are you insane, woman? Why don't I just stuff the boy with flowers!"  
  
Narcissa Malfoy's lip curled at the Dark Lord, but she did not say anything more. At the window, Lucius smothered a chuckle with a swallow of tea. Riddle walked up beside him.  
  
"Breeding, Lucius," spat Riddle in a disgusted voice, glancing back over his shoulder at the skinny blonde witch who held a tray of crumpets. "That is all this woman holds for you." The youth then smiled. "But she has a point, somewhat."  
  
Lucius looked up, very mild surprise written over his face. "My Lord?"  
  
"The Potter boy is oblivious to everything that is happening to him. Yet somehow his mental defenses have doubled."  
  
Lucius sipped his tea.  
  
"You have the most elegant gardens known, Lucius." Riddle leaned out the window. "Their peace could lead Potter out into a false sense of security. He'll think he's in a dream. *That* is when I will strike. Simple as that and he will be lying open to me."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Fetch him, Lucius. Leave him in the center garden, by the fountain."  
  
"The fountain?"  
  
"Lucius, the hidden water spout where I killed that worthless Wormtail."  
  
Riddle looked into the mirrors above him as he strode down the hall. His countenence was as vibrant as ever, with the faintest peach pink strokes over his snowy cheeks, eyes bright as molten silver, the whole angular face framed by inky black. He smirked up at his reflection and disappeared into a connecting hall.  
  
The light outside was soft and green. Riddle tucked his hand away, pulling up his hood. A scowl flitted across his lips and he ducked beneath the first arch of holly, slithering through the pathways and hidden tunnels like a serpent to the nest of a bird.  
  
He found Harry lying in the dry fountain. From the patches of blood on the ground and red smeared over the stone, the boy had dragged himself up and into the structure, as if he were looking to drink from the cold flow. Unfortunately, the fount had dried long ago. Sneering at the boy's vain hopes, Riddle took hold of the limp arms and dragged the corpeslike body up and over the rim of the fountain.  
  
"I wonder if to just kill you - rip open your throat - would unleash that power you hold, Harry," Riddle murmured, running his fingers through the boy's ragged hair, snagging in the heavy knots caked with blood. He stepped lightly into the fountain and lifted Harry's face into the sunlight, eyes slowly going over every battered detail of old wounds, developing scars, and oozing infection. "We're not looking too pretty."  
  
Harry's ribs stood out from his abdomen as if no skin even covered them. Riddle lay the boy out on the grass and sat next to him, squinting idly up into the sky. He lightly traced each individual rib, still watching the lazy clouds above, until he came to the highest rib that hung over Harry's weakly beating heart. Eyes still fixed on the sky, Riddle rested his head on the shallow chest and listened to the beat of Harry's heart, his lids fluttering with each tiny thump.  
  
"The core of your power rests within your heart," he whispered, putting his palms against Harry's chest and pushing himself up, dark hair lightly brushing the sleeping boy's chin. "I want you to wake up." Smiling, Riddle played his fingers over Harry's lips.  
  
The young wizard's smooth brow furrowed and he took a shuddering breath. Riddle leaned down and listened to the air flowing from between Harry's lips. He caught the rhythm of the boy's breathing and brushed Harry's mouth gently, drawing back to look up at the sun again, as if to mock the light. With a wave of his hand, the holly surrounding the fountain clearing began to grow, twining through the air to join in a tight covering over the whole spot, shutting out the light and leaving the inside of the cocoon glowing from the white stone of the fountain.  
  
"Awaken, sweet prince," Riddle purred sardonically, pressing his open mouth to Harry's parted lips, crushing them together in a harsh kiss. Underneath him, Harry stirred, his one working eye fluttering. Stroking the boy's bottom lip, Riddle entwined their fingers, throwing one leg over Harry's hips.  
  
Harry's eye remained shut, body motionless.  
  
Leaning back and wiping the side of his mouth coyly, Riddle looked down at Harry with amused frustration. He knew very well that trying to break the boy by magic directly would do him no good. Yet if he used an *illusion*...  
  
Riddle's face sprouted into a raucous grin. He cast his eyes towards Harry again, running his hands down the boy's chest, playfully licking at his lips. Gently speaking against Harry's ear, Riddle began to coax the boy to the surface of consciousness, while behind them the stone horse of the fountain came to life, crystal water flowing from its mouth, filling the stone basin, the light from the water spreading over the ground and bringing the closed area to life.  
  
"Harry," Riddle sang breathily, standing up over the boy, looking down into twin green eyes set in a flawless face, surrounded by sleek tresses of smooth ebony. The Dark Lord smiled at his handy work as Harry sat up, holding his head and gazing down at his now healed body in amazement.  
  
As Harry drew his knees up to his chest, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh air, Riddle stripped himself of his outer cloak. He lay it on the ground and sat down upon it, watching Harry, waiting.  
  
The boy held his face in his hands, making small moaning sounds with each breath, his back shuddering. It was as if he almost needed to feel pain to convince himself that he was still alive.  
  
"Harry," Riddle ventured, taking private joy in the way his voice melted into the redhead's smooth way. With a freckled hand he reached toward Harry, who's eyes had now found him, widened with amazement.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Yes, Harry," said Riddle, "It's me."  
  
The tears started before Harry fell into his arms and Riddle could feel the wet warmth trailing down his bare chest. Harry sobbed into it, clinging to Riddle in desperation. Hiding a feral smile that barely made a whisper across his lips, Riddle tilted Harry's face up to him, gazing into the running green eyes that looked back and forth from either brown eye, as if Harry needed to see both. As the water of the radiant fountain pulsed and ran behind him, Riddle stroked Harry's face, wiping away the warm tears and gently removing the boy's taped up glasses. The pure trust in Harry's eyes sent shivers up Riddle's spine. For moments he just touched the boy, just ran his hands over Harry's face and down his neck, playing lithe fingers over his jutting collar bone. The boy was so thin, so fragile looking. Without meeting Harry's eyes, Riddle bent his head and rested his lips against his throat. Never had the boy looked so fragile. He softly ran his tongue over Harry's skin, tasting the sweat and smelling his scent. The boy had fought him so. Now he trembled.  
  
"Ron," he whispered, placing his hand on the back of Riddle's head, "Ron, what are you doing?" He twined his fingers in Riddle's red hair, his voice holding a tone of worry.  
  
Riddle wrapped his fingers around Harry's right hand, looking up into Harry's eyes as he tightened his grip.  
  
"Ron," Harry whispered urgently, tugging at his hand.  
  
The dark boy pulled Harry up against him, stroking his hair. Around them, the glow of the fountain and the plants softened. Riddle leaned back and touched Harry's chin. Fear melting into a confused trust, Harry watched as Riddle crushed his hand in his grip, closing brown eyes as the bones snapped beneath the pressure. Harry did not cry out. But his eyes said enough. They followed Riddle as he stood up, and they followed when Riddle drew him unresisting into the water of the fountain, pushing him down on his back so that his lips barely brushed above the surface.  
  
In the flickering light of the water, Riddle's reflection changed. Harry stared up as the red locks lengthened and smoothed out into black tresses, falling gently against the long white neck and grazing graceful shoulders. His eyes went to the serpentine limbs that held him down, and then he raised his gaze to meet two glowing silver orbs that mirrored the malice playing over thin lips.  
  
His face hardened into a look of withering hatred. Through the water, Riddle could only see a wavering picture of a young boy, returning bruises breaking out over his skin, right eye swelling until it was completely shut, hair tangling, and light flowing from his body. What he did see clearly was that one eye, staring straight through him, stabbing straight through him. He frowned and looked away from the boy as the air changed. The stone of the fountain became dull again, and the water rancid and hot. Vines shriveled and opened up the sky, pouring the scorching heat of sun rays down onto Riddle's exposed face. Lip curling over his white teeth, the Dark Lord turned to reach his cloak, but a hand shot up from the water and took hold of his arm, thumb pressing hard into the right eye of the Mark skull.  
  
A shooting pain speared through his right eye and Riddle swayed, feeling the warm river of blood pouring from his eye. He clutched his face, blood dripping into the water and clearing the murk so that Harry's face was visible, perfectly framed in a window of red tinted water, right below the surface, grinning up at him, that one eye shining with insane hatred: An insane, victorious hatred that Riddle felt down to his bones.  
  
Panic ebbed into his eyes as Riddle was shoved from the fountain, thrown to the grass. Harry stood above him and leaned down to him, face to face. They stared into each other's eyes, squaring off: Riddle sprawled haphazardly over the dying grass, Harry bent over him, one eye glowing, skin splitting with old wounds anew. Time stood still as Harry backed off, waiting for Riddle to rise to his feet.  
  
They were the same height, eye to eyes.  
  
Riddle was wary, alert. Harry dropped his grinning confidence and wiped the side of his mouth where blood had begun to flow.  
  
"We're even," he said slowly.   
  
Riddle blinked at him, unclenching tense fists and letting his hands drop to his sides, Harry's eye rolling after the movement. The Dark Lord stared as the Boy Wonder dropped to his knees and looked up at him; an honest young man with his whole life ahead of him.  
  
"I'm tired," said Harry, almost casually. He tilted his head to better see the other boy. "I'm just tired."  
  
Riddle sneered. "What is this, Potter?" He raised his hand to strike the boy. "You think to toy with me-"  
  
"Let me talk now," Harry said wearily, drawing the back of his hand across the wounded eye and staring indifferently at the trail of blood and pus it left. "I'm tired of this. I want my suffering to end, I want all this suffering to end right now. Can you understand that? I know that you'll never give up until you crack me open like a safe, but I don't want it like that. I don't want to be here, and I don't want you alive. But it's been too long. Everything is gone, crushed - and at your bloody doing. Your death is all I long for in this world. Your death, and my peace." He stood up slowly, puffing breath into Riddle's face as he chuckled, "I think I've really gone mad, you know?" Harry sat heavily back on the ground, holding his head in his hands. Riddle looked down at the bent head, unsure.  
  
A warm breeze slid through Riddle's hair, smoothing over his face. He squinted up at the sun, and when he returned his gaze down, Harry was right against him, so close Riddle could feel the infected heat from his cuts and sores.  
  
Awkwardly, almost timidly, Harry touched Riddle's face, sliding shaky fingers up his cheek to sweep the soft tendrils of black away from the sloping white brow. Then he met Riddle's eyes and took hold of the other boy's hands, drawing them around his waist to rest over his backside. For moments after Riddle looked off past Harry's face as the boy gave him fluttering kisses over his cheeks and forehead, throwing bruised arms around his neck and pulling him closer.  
  
"I saw your power. I felt it," Harry murmured in his ear, stroking the back of his head. Riddle held stalk still. "That power, it was so... beautiful. And I'm tired of being alone." With those words, Harry pressed his lips to Riddle's mouth, slipping his eyes closed and grinding into the Dark wizard's groin.  
  
"Alone," Riddle repeated rather breathlessly, hands tightening over Harry's flesh, pressing the boy harder against him.  
  
"No one can ever understand," Harry hissed, "Except for you, Tom. What it's like to be us. To be so powerful and up on this pedestal where no one is there to keep us protected."  
  
Riddle closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck, opening his mouth to the musky smelling skin.  
  
Laying his head to the side, rocking back and forth in Riddle's arms, Harry stared at the sky, his lips drawn in a grim line.  
  
~*~  
  
His body burned and ached horribly. The breath scorched his lungs, and the one limb that sported the Mark felt as if it were drenched in a flesh eating acid. Shutting his eyes to block the stinging sweat than ran in heavy rivulets down his face, Ron sunk down against the wall, ignoring the muffled creaking of his legs. On his arm, the Mark was the only place that was not inflamed with redness or coursing with pain. It felt as if a soothing cool had been dispelled over it, and Ron thought it all the worse. It was as if the Mark were enjoying itself, witnessing him try and reign its power. Ron glared at it, covering it with a gloved hand, his fingers lying burned and red against the spectral white of the Mark's area.  
  
"Bloody hell," he muttered, leaning on his knee. Harry's picture was smudged and nearly indiscernible. Licking his thumb, Ron rubbed the rest of it out, pulling the small piece of white chalk from his pocket and beginning again on the messy mop of hair and the bug-eyed glasses, scratching a little square in between the twin circles and smiling. "Hermione always offered to fix them, but you were just so bloody attached to that tape." But the thought of Hermione's flushed face out on the Quidditch field as she would scold Harry only brought a melancholy weariness over him, and what he needed most was strength.  
  
Happy thoughts, he urged.  
  
Finished finally with the little chalk figure, Ron stood up again, peeling off his lightweight cloak and laying it over the ground in front of him like some wrinkled snake skin. Then he took up the all too familiar stance of right hand guiding over left and focused on the cloak. This time though, he didn't even detect the thrumming which usually emanated from the Mark. Frustrated, he jerked his arm up and looked down at the jeering skull angrily.  
  
Once again taking up the stance, Ron poured all his attention on the cloak, but nothing would happen for him. Growing angrier and angrier as he tried again and again, Ron realized that the Mark may have blocked off any of his efforts, built up some kind of tolerance. Maybe this was hopeless. But that thought brought along with it pictures of Harry, beaten and bruised, Hermione as she was thrown back into fire by Deatheaters, Ron's family in Egypt, Sirius and Lupin, Dumbledore, even blasted old Snape. They were all gone now, and he was here, still alive. It made him angry beyond what he had ever felt before, and the Mark only taunted the wild emotions which flared up in his soul. Suddenly Ron saw the explosions ripping the sky and heard the screams echoing forever in his ears. Then he saw Harry again, on his broom, closing his fingers around the fluttering Snitch. Harry begging him to promise, promise him. And all of that narrowed down into one ray of slicing emotion which cut right into his brain, right into his shoulder and right down his arm like a line of fire. Clenching his jaw and letting the burning rage boil inside of him, Ron thrust his hand forward with a deep bellow that echoed far past the tower, shaking the very foundation of the Manor and spiraling up into the sky like a wild storm.  
  
Back heat ripped from his hand, spearing into the cloak and setting it on fire, the green flames lapping at the ceiling hungrily and coiling toward Ron. More and more power spewed forth, smoking and vile. Stone melted under the intense blaze as the spiraling blackness shot from his open palm. The redhead fell back, snapping up his wrist and cutting off the power, staring at his hand, blackened and the glove completely charred off. His eyes glowed oddly, and he looked at the Mark. Anger still circulated through him, easier, smoother, as if the anger was what heated his blood. It felt as if the Mark had finally opened to him, letting loose a flood of black power which ran over his skin and through his body like poison.  
  
Thoughts fled his mind, and all he saw was the Mark, blaring on his white arm, the black lines of the snake writhing and the skull cackling with pleasure. He mirrored their mirth and curled his arm up to his chest, staring straight at the wall as if he didn't see it. Everything was bathed in red and Ron could hear the throb of his heart beating loudly in his ears.  
  
He opened his hand and flexed his fingers. The power crackled and popped. His eyes turned to the window and he leaned out over the sill, gulping down the fresh air as his anger quelled inside of him. With a casual wonder, he glanced at the Mark again.  
  
Avoiding any house elves, Ron made it out into the gardens, beneath the old willow, lying in the grass and watching as the wind danced in the swaying branches above him. One arm crooked under his head, the other laid across his chest. A torrent of emotions stormed inside of him, and he felt fear, raw and harsh, stabbing through his gut. He was both aware of his new powers, yet also of the change already sweeping over him. For a moment Ron was Ron again, alone and scared. But then he pictured Harry's face and looked down at the last remaining doodle on his right hand. He needed to do this for Harry. And everything can be controlled.  
  
With a deep breath, Ron sat up, turning his head in the cool wind. He needed to control the Mark, yet he must control it through the control it held over him. He must sate it, but use it at his own will.  
  
"This is really Harry's category," he said clearly to the wind. The thrum of the Mark had subsided, and he knew it waited for him. He was its master now. His anger would use its power while at the same time his soul was tainted in return. He shivered with sudden cold as he felt the black power turning inside of him like a beast going to rest. Then he became very quiet and still.  
  
The wind shrank away from him, slithering over the ground as the branches stilled. The air grew sharp and quiet, the light of the sun cutting through the jagged clouds.  
  
Ron expelled a shuddering breath, and one perfect tear fell from his eye, striking the cold ground, breaking into tiny droplets, shattered.  
  
A/N: Confusing enough, eh? Well, the lesson for today, children, is that any and all ends can be achieved by sexual bargaining. *winks* Au revior! 


	9. Sinister Motives

THANX TO....  
  
**Rachel M.: Thank you! Such a nice first chappie 8 review. ^_^  
  
**KIm: Yes, reread! I don't even understand it sometimes! *wink*  
  
**GLEH: Dearest bailer poetiss genius, Gleh! *noogie* Tickle your toes!  
  
**sheeep: I was thinking about doing a fluffy R/H fic.... but I dunno. *hug*  
  
**AA1477: Wow, thank you so much! I love A.I. and to be compared is very schweigh!  
  
**Nightengale: *giggles dorkily* You're going to give me a big head, lovey! *hug*  
  
**Kenna Hijja: Your reviews really compel me to write more, darling. *grins* Thank you.  
  
**Lothlorien: Voldie's lonely! He's desperate! And yes, he's rather daft as well.... *wink*  
  
**Sheena: Andrea, honey! *sobs* I wish I could zap over and give you a big fluffy hug. *wipes tears away* Please feel better, love.  
  
**Dee: I don't tend to use e-mail, but go ahead and archive my fic! *honored* Thanks!  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter Nine: Sinister Motives  
  
Soft moonlight filtered through the articulate tracery of the iron clad window, spattering twinkling dots of light over the dark satin sheets. Upon the bed, bathed in that cool glow, Harry lay back against the mattress, his deathly thin arms arched up above his head, sunken stomach rising with each breath to shudder under the skeletal jutting of his ribs. The light shadowed jaggedly over his sharp features, sinking into a dark hole wherein his eye darted around the room. Pain laced every bone in his body, every tissue, muscle. Etched into his face like a crack in white marble, the bolt scar throbbed with a deep ache, numbing heavily over his whole mind.  
  
Where the light's rays ended in shadow, a pair of dark eyes watched with lustful hunger when the boy shifted, drifting over the tension in his hollow chest, listening to the hitching breath as if it were winds from the beautiful sea. Riddle clenched his fist when the boy's shrunken form convulsed, tiny spasms racing over the dips and sharp angles of his protruding bones, legs gently tensing against the sheets as if he didn't want to disturb the peace of the room. He looked spectral and unearthly. Riddle ran his tongue over his lips, eyes boring into a calm green eye, a weary green eye, mirrored over the bridge of his nose by an empty socket, the eye burned from his face by the Scythe Fire. The boy looked like a skull. A beautiful and suffering skull with life just barely trudging through its veins.  
  
Harry sensed him before he came into his sights, smiling oddly as he seemed to all of the time. As if he knew that he had the whole world wrapped around his little finger. Yet that smile changed whenever he touched Harry. It softened and Riddle would lower his mouth to Harry's chest and his lips would feel like petals. Hands clenching against the sheets, Harry closed his eyes and made a muffled moan deep in his throat as Riddle took one erected nub into his mouth, gently sucking and working the sensitive tip with his tongue as his hands gripped emaciated hips and rubbed coldly heated thumbs over the sharp bones. Harry rolled his eye shut, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips with the minute spilling of blood down his chest.  
  
Coyly he lapped at the crimson flow, then latched his teeth into deathly white skin, sucking hard at the dwindling stream of blood. Above his head Harry made a whispering plea, gaunt hands stroking the back of Riddle's head weakly. He turned up to gaze at the constricted look of concentration capturing the youth's face, budding his chapped lips. With a hand shaking from his need to be so gentle, Riddle drew a finger down Harry's cheek, murmuring his name loud enough so the boy lifted his fluttering lashes to look into soft gray eyes.  
  
His voice was cracked and run rasp, but Harry spoke anyway, his eyes locked on the swirling storm in Riddle's gaze, as if he were trapped, his hand still gliding distantly through the thick locks of black. "The lonely are always the strongest." Gray eyes danced and alighted with a rakish pride. Harry continued, his voice catching slightly as Riddle settled his hips perched over Harry's, crushing down into the boy with his slight weight; "We are the ones who will rule them all one day, all the normal fools." He briefly opened his mouth to receive Riddle's kiss, like a simple beast receiving a prize for a kill well executed. His voice was lost on Riddle's tongue, digging down into his throat in vain hopes to devour the boy body and soul. Their fingers entwined, and Harry could feel the drained tendons bend and stretch. He felt the bones would snap, and he met Riddle's mouth again, wetly lapping at the lord's swollen lips, darting his tongue inside the hot mouth, pushing back with his dwindling strength and easing the pressure on his hands.  
  
"They look at us with such cold eyes," Riddle said with a dark voice, nuzzling Harry with the side of his face, fingers arched in claws dragging over the white skin of the curved in stomach, barely noticing the body beneath him shiver as thin lines of blood appeared. "It is vicious jealousy. No one could ever understand our power." Slowly, as if realizing again where he was, Riddle lifted his hips and slid down Harry's lithe body, pushing his fingers through the crevice made by Harry's bruised thighs pressing hard together. White legs separated and one green eye flashed open wide as Riddle crouched down near his core, drawing cool breath along lines of saliva left by his tongue over Harry's inner thigh. "So they fear us instead."  
  
His head turned as he felt a twinge in the air. Riddle had paused and Harry felt a sickening stab of worry scream through his whole being. Turning quickly back to Riddle, he reached up like a child for a stolen toy and pulled Riddle back down to him, kissing his mouth softly and working between his stiff lips as the youth strained to sense what he had just felt in the air. Harry wrapped one arm around Riddle's neck, pulling him down harder, breathing heavily between their working lips, bucking his hips beneath them, his long hand trailing down Riddle's torso to brush his hip. "They fear us still." He whispered it as Riddle stretched over him, the breath of feeling they had both sensed now vanished. Harry waited.  
  
"They always will," Riddle hissed, leaning back on his heels, hungry eyes returning, heating with the swelling of Harry's lips and the weary, beautiful body laid out before him like a dying angel. With a playful smile, Riddle leaned over the boy again, circling his lips with a finger before pushing it into Harry's mouth, sighing when the digit was surrounded in his sweet warmth, tongue stroking it gently, green eye modestly lowered. He slid it out with a tiny mewl following and drew it down Harry's chest, his eyes trailing its path with a burning intensity. Pausing right under Harry's navel, Riddle raised his eyes to meet that one blazing green eye, which watched him with a hesitant, wary, fearful lust.   
  
His breath whispered from his lips in jagged breaths. Harry rolled his eye shut, muscles clenching as he was invaded, rattling whimpers sliding past grinding teeth. He could feel Riddle's eyes fixed on his face, taking in the sweat pouring from his brow, listening with rapt attention to his ragged panting. Shoving up onto his elbows, Harry opened his eye and with a heaving chest, met Riddle's prying mouth, his moan sharpened as another finger was added beside the first. Shivers raced up his spine as he was stroked down his back, hands now burning, moving over his shoulders to turn him. His cheek pressed the dark sheets, one eye closed against the soft material. Bracing himself, Harry waited.  
  
The boy was quiet for him. Riddle bent over Harry, twining his fingers into thick black hair and pulling the boy's head back so that his breath whispered over the empty left socket. Harry slowly turned his head and Riddle caught his lower lip between his teeth, gently rolling the skin as he began to thrust into the boy, using one hand to grip Harry's hip, steadying himself. The young wizard gasped and shut his eye tightly, tongue darting out to lap at the opening of Riddle's mouth. Erected nubs rubbed in painful pleasure over Harry's back, grinding into his sharp shoulder blades, matching the rhythm of his breathy sighs and strained whimpers. Riddle's lips curved into a smile as Harry nibbled at his chin, neck craned over, locks of black flipping over his eye. He thrust into the boy harder, pushing his tongue into Harry's mouth and stifling a sharp cry. Like tiny spears, his teeth sunk into Harry's tongue, pinning it against his lower teeth. The boy's eye closed, a line of wet tears hanging from his lashes.   
  
Blood flooded between their lips, spilling onto the sheets and staining their sweating limbs. Riddle shoved into Harry with wild abandon, grinding mutilated muscle between his teeth, eyelids fluttering with the coppery heat rolling down his throat. Harry bucked beneath him, lifting one hand to weakly cup Riddle's face, stroking his cheek.  
  
As the Dark Lord continued to devour him, Harry opened his one eye, rolling it back into his head so that only the white showed. Over his pale face and shining over the white of his eye was a sickly green glow. Riddle haggardly took a breath, mouth stained with the crimson of Harry's blood. The boy watched him without seeing; the Lord bathed in green light. Emanating from the blazing bolt scar. It came to life over is forehead, pulsing with a terrible cold. Thumping against his skull, raised skin itching with freezing ice, as if its power were being drained, clenched.  
  
"Harry," Riddle murmured, rivers of blood dribbling over his chin. With a final thrust, he ravaged Harry's mouth, sucking the sweet blood between his lips, arms locked around the boy's chest, hips still struggling against the skeletal body. A cry ripped from his mouth, sending a dull buzz down Harry's throat. The scar dimmed and they both collapsed against the sheets, Harry unconscious with Riddle shoved inside him, blood still flowing from his shredded mouth.  
  
~*~  
  
His long white fingers, like living stone, twirled a lock of fiery hair. It had grown so long and now curled at the end just brushing his back. Ron tapped his lips, eyes glinting in the sunlight. He flexed his free hand, the dragon hyde tightening over his knuckles with a quiet creak. On the back of his wrist there was still a smudge of white chalk detectable, but it had been rubbed out after so much practice. Only the sharp tips of messy hair were still visible, and Ron turned his hand, pressing it to the tree he was leaning against and dragging it down, looking to see the last traces of chalk gone from the hyde. His lips curled and he drew the glove close to his face, breathing in the lingering scent of scorched skin. At the snap of a twig, his hand clenched into a tight fist, thrust into his pocket, only the utmost edge of the glove visible. Ron turned a smoldering gaze towards the blonde wizard who stood a few feet away, a hand gripping the elbow of his opposite arm. The redhead sneered and turned back to gazing into the distance. "You look like a child when you do that."  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes, snapping his hands down to his sides. "I am a child? How can you be the one to make accusations like that when it's you who is going off and brooding like a moody toddler over some lost toy." He crossed his arms over his chest haughtily and sauntered over to the taller boy, following his gaze and shielding his eyes mockingly. "Bird watching, are you?" He began to laugh, more out of anger and frustration than real amusement.  
  
A gloved hand whipped out and caught his wrist, nearly crushing it as it was twisted down, forcing Draco to curve his body. Ron glared cooly into the defiant silver eyes, noting with pleasure the twitch of pain at the corners of Draco's mouth.   
  
"Let go," Draco hissed, yanking his hand from Ron's grip and rubbing it with shaking fingers. The fire in the other boy's eyes had cooled, turning back to the gardens beyond. Grimacing, Draco bit back any comments, eyes following the flexing fist back into the depths of Ron's inner robes. With a smug expression, eyes heavily lidded, Ron crossed his arms behind his head, leaning back on them, hips arched outward jauntily, robes slipping back to frame his dark pants and comfortably bare feet. Draco frowned at him, the aching of his wrists abating. Brown eyes seemed to be waiting as silver rose to meet them and Draco felt something inside him uncoil, as if a knot in his heart had been solved, twines of tingling sensations springing through his chest. He started as gentle fingers touched his face, drawing him forward so that his upturned mouth barely brushed Ron's lips, puckering at the warm connection. A strong arm snaked around his lower back, gripping his hip and pushing him against a wiry body, lips caressing his face, tongue sweeping over his closed lids in a blissful heat.  
  
Now supporting the smaller boy with both arms, Ron hefted the slight frame up, pushing away from the tree as slender legs wound around his waist. Their tongues worked furiously with each other, chests pushed close so that their beating hearts skipped to match time. Ron pressed his hands against Draco's backside, shoving their hips together as Draco drew away, breaking the heated kiss to slide the cloak from his shoulders and lift the tasteful undershirt over his head, throwing them casually on the ground and returning his embrace around Ron's neck, meeting his mouth again. The redhead gave a throaty growl, lowering Draco carefully to the ground and holding up on his hands and knees over him. He leaned down easily, strands of red kissing Draco's cheeks, to nibble along the blonde's jaw line, lifting his hands to rub them down the shallow chest.  
  
His alluring silver eyes narrowed with coy pleasure as the constricting cloth was pushed past his hips and down his legs, tossed casually aside by the redhead. Bare in the wind, the air was colder. Draco smirked as Ron slid down his body, turning his silver eyes up into the trees, sparkling lights flickering like sprinkles of stardust through the dancing branches of green. The light dotted his lids in a frenzy as Draco dug his fingers into Ron's hair, shoving his head back into the grass. His lips parted, limbs trembling as Ron's tongue swept over him slowly, teasingly, the brown eyes taunting his sweating face, hair sliding through his clutching fingers. He tangled his hands tighter in Ron's red hair, pulling his knees up as shocks of nearly unbearable pleasure streaked up his body.  
  
Ron listened as Draco's breathy pleas became higher pitched and the fingers in his hair tightened and lessened as if they didn't know what to do. He drew away and blew a column of cold air over Draco's skin, eliciting another breathy cry from the boy quivering under his ministrations. Hands now stroked his face, soft voice whispering over the silence in the air. Ron bobbed his head faster, hands nearly clawing at the boy's shaking legs, rocking in time with Draco's whimpers and cries. Closer.  
  
A wave of heated pleasure gusted over him and Draco suddenly couldn't breathe in the hot sun. The branches were no longer there to shield him, and the heat plowed over his body, drying out his skin and ripping it away in delicate flakes. He felt blood draining from his veins and a tightening as they condensed to keep the fluids in. His lashes fluttered weakly and the heat grew worse, the clenching of his veins even tighter, pulling him outside of himself and throwing him as dust to the winds which tore past the parted branches like claws through strips of flesh. Heat intense, shredding him, building inside. Why did he feel his soul being drained by the harsh light of the sun, why were his arms and legs weighted down as if bolted to the ground? He began to struggle, screaming as the heat built hotter and hotter, pushing through his core and blasting out the top of his head in a dazzling explosion. His cry was sharp and loud, heat spiraling down into a faint, aching pleasure. Gasps for breath were cut off by sweet lips, tongue delving into his mouth, and he tasted himself. Sweat dripping down his face, Draco opened his eyes and stared at Ron, the redhead's own gaze covered, hand rubbing methodically over Draco's torso, free hand down between their grinding hips, stroking, caressing. His own whispers of pleasure crowded Draco's disoriented thoughts as his hand was guided between them, feeling over the redhead's frenzied hands, sweat clinging to the tips of his fingers. He felt so drained. So.... In a daze, he met Ron's eyes as the redhead gave one cry, eyes clouding over as Draco's breath hitched and the blonde twined his fingers in Ron's hair, panic flooding his eyes as a heavy blanket of weakness descended upon him, smothering him under stifling heat.   
  
As the silver gaze drifted closed, Ron eased his eyes shut, shaking his head back as his pulse rate slowed. He looked back down at Draco and arched his body sharply over, pressing a fleeting kiss to the wizard's lips. His left hand, still gloved, stroked Draco's flushed cheek, pushing aside drenched locks of hair. A tiny line of red appeared at the corner of Draco's mouth and Ron smiled, the winds suddenly changing direction, swirling in odd dances, lifting the hair upon his head and whispering over the gloved hand. He drew his tongue over the line of blood and then looked back through the willow branches at the distant manor. A particular presence touched his senses and he grinned down at Draco, flexing his gloved fist as the presence grew stronger inside of him. Patiently he waited, listening to the thrum of his body as the feeling of the presence grew stronger, like tiny flames licking at his insides and spreading. Finally with a last smile at the unconscious boy, Ron drew the cloak up around his shoulders and pursued the new sense he held, gloved fingers dancing in front of him as if following a thin thread drifting in the air.  
  
~*~  
  
The cold slid over his skin and off as if it weren't even there. Ron brushed back his hair irritably in the breeze, clenching and unclenching the gloved fist still tucked away inside his robe, tensing against the shallow flank of his bare chest. The presence he had sensed before grew stronger, coming fast. In fact, he could hear their breath, short and hard as they strode down the outside corridor in heavy black boots, and he could hear the rustling of long robes. Quelling a vicious smirk that fought across his lips, Ron let his robe slip open and let his body sag against the freezing stone of the manor wall, gloved hand falling limply at his side, eyes sliding shut against the pale cold sun that failed to stab its warmth through the shadows. Lashes fluttering with anticipation, Ron sucked in his breath as the majestic blonde figure rounded the corner and caught sight of him, coming to a slow pause.  
  
Lucius' eyes slowly worked over Ron's body, and he moved up to the boy with a serpentine grace, easily lifting the pointed chin and staring impassively into the squinting brown eyes. A pale pink tongue licked hungrily at the corners of his mouth, drawing over his thin lips and moistening them. Without a sound, Lucius then leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Ron's, evoking the tiniest of moans from the boy's throat. He threaded his hands in fiery locks of hair, pulling the young wizard's head back so the trembling white throat was bared to him, shaken by every breath out of the red mouth. He lowered his head, hands tightening their grip as Ron moved back, pressing into the wall, his youthful hands stroking down his chest; clothed in such heavy black in contrast to bare skin. Catching one delicate limb, Lucius turned the boy, twisting the one gloved hand up behind him, pushing it painfully under his shoulder blade and doubling him over. Then he nudged Ron's legs with his knee, folding them. Ron's head was bowed, a veil of crimson falling down to frame his face and pooling around the robe which hung off his bony shoulders. Lowering his head to taste the freckled skin, Lucius shoved the robe away, breaking the clasp over Ron's throat, reveling in the sight of blood dribbling down the boy's chest from the cut.  
  
From the ground Ron turned his mind away from the pain stabbing through his arm and instead focused on every pulse of Lucius' tongue against the back of his neck where the man had parted the red curtain of hair. He shut his eyes, head resting on the stones of the wall, gloved hand burning with the sensation of limited blood flow. Gasping, hand jerking acutely, he was turned sharply around, arm still twisted behind his back, face brushing the fabric covering the inside of Lucius' thigh. He raised his eyes and met the slicing silver gaze cooly, measuredly. He made no resistance when Lucius let his arm fall back to the ground, other hand guiding his head closer to the heat between his legs. When Ron made no movement to remove the clothing blocking his way, Lucius pulled his hair and Ron brought up a hand to gently play three callused fingers over the man's arm. "No," he breathed, fingers twining around Lucius' wrist and shoving the hand down his chest, "I want you inside of me."  
  
The surprise he felt was hidden easily by a slow smirk. Something was going off in the back of his mind, alerting him, but the desire to teach this boy who's right it was to make demands overrode any sense of caution. He cruelly pinched one erected nub on Ron's chest, other hand pulling the boy to his feet by his hair. Still smirking, he shoved the boy toward his cloak and watched smugly as Ron drew it slowly over his shoulders, modestly holding the front together with shaking hands. The boy had no possible idea what he was asking.  
  
Ron stood awkwardly in Lucius' chambers, eyes traveling around the gothic room as Lucius tore the robe away from his shoulders, running his hands down Ron's body roughly, jarring the boy on his feet. Closing his eyes, Ron lifted his arms as strong limbs encircled his chest and soft lips, like velvet over stone, whispered past his temples, hot tongue curling over the corner of his mouth. Whimpering, he rocked back against the heat pressing at his back and opened his mouth in a silent plea as nails were dragged over his skin. "Now," he moaned, turning to bury himself in Lucius' scent, "Take me now..."  
  
He smothered Ron's words in a hot kiss, digging his nails into the back of Ron's head and tugging on locks of red. A sharp gasp tickled his lips when he drew back, allowing the younger wizard to catch his breath. Their eyes met and Ron smirked, swollen mouth curling at the ends. He leaned forward and caught a finger in his mouth, dragging his teeth over the long digit. Gasping sharply, Lucius hooked a foot around the boy's ankle and shoved him down onto the bed, arching into him as Ron took another finger into his hot mouth, sucking loudly. "You've changed," Lucius murmured, drawing his lips over the silky red strands of hair falling across Ron's pale cheek. The boy lapped wetly at his fingers still, eyes heavily lidded.   
  
"Are you afraid of me?"   
  
It was an innocent question, but it gave Lucius pause, his hand resting just below the redhead's collar bone. "What?" He leaned back, putting his weight purposefully on the hand that pressed Ron's chest. The boy squirmed, sensual, eyes taunting him haughtily.  
  
"I can feel it," he whispered, raising his chin to brush his lips against Lucius' frowning mouth. "You're hesitant." His hand snaked up to twine in soft silver blonde hair. Eyes dancing, he pulled Lucius' head down by the lock of hair he held and crushed their lips together, delving his tongue inside the man's mouth. He could feel the older wizard stiffen against him. "Draco endured your dominant touch for so long. But I cannot." He gripped a long hand tightly. Hot breath moistened his forehead, hitching slightly. "Are you angry with me?" The room was twice as cold as before, hitting the damp breath caressing his face and turning it to ice.  
  
"You insolent little bastard," Lucius growled, leaning back until he was sitting up on Ron's hips. "I own my son, and I own you." He raised his hand and drew it back, eyes infinitely cold. "My property does not speak to me in that way." Lip twitching with disgust, he brought his hand down across Ron's face, scowling when the boy's hair flew across the pillow and silence hung in the air. Like blood, it streamed over the white satin sheets, spilling over the edge to dangle in scarlet delicacy. Gently he fingered it, brushing it off of Ron's face and staring into a blank brown eye turned up towards him.  
  
"Cronus was overcome by his son, Zues. And so Zues knew in turn he would die as well by his heir's hands." He shifted underneath the taller man, turning his face into Lucius' cool palm. Kissing it lightly, he drew his other hand up the man's bare front, circling one erected nub. But his hand was caught and pressed to the sheets, the other following. He looked up slowly into flashing silver eyes and saw clearly the desire there. A pleased smile whispered over his parted lips as the older wizard leaned into him, using one free hand to wrap under Ron's back and lift him partly off of the bed. His hands were freed and Ron watched the ceiling impassively as he was turned around, sliding up Lucius' legs until he was nestled in the man's lap. Leaning back comfortably, he turned his head, darting his tongue out to caress the side of a down turned mouth.  
  
The boy's temperature had risen and the flush over his face sent the brown eyes afire. Lucius stared into them, swallowing up Ron's tongue. They rolled shut, a moan vibrating against his lips. Running his hands up Ron's sides, Lucius paused, voice sending chills between their barely parted lips; "Does this mean you have betrayed Potter?"   
  
Smirking coyly, Ron slipped from Lucius' grasp and lay back on the bed, running his hands in circles over the man's curved lower back. "You remember, Lucius? When you would find me in the cells and break me. Again and again." He arched his back, lithely stretching, and scraped his fingernails over the carved mahogany of the headboard. "There is no way to be broken completely, Lucius," he whispered lightly, fingering the subtle carvings in the wood and smiling at them. "Except by pain." Eyes slipping lazily from the carvings, Ron moved them over the sharp face carefully, gasping when the man thrust forward and crushed him up against the headboard, all the little carved creatures and shapes digging painfully into his back, arched back bone rubbing violently against the dark mahogany.  
  
"You want it again," Lucius growled in his ear, ripping his head down by his hair to shove it into the white sheets. "You want to taste your own blood again as you try to drive out the pain with even more."   
  
Ron could feel the sneer shaped kiss on the back of his head, heated fingers groping down his side, finally gripping the top of his thigh. He cried out as he was yanked down, teeth sinking into his lip and leaving a trickling trail of blood over white. Staring up in barely veiled outrage, Ron ground his teeth, gloved fist clenching and unclenching at spastic speed. With lethal eyes he watched the man stride over to his desk and retrieve a thin wand that sparked a small flame of pain deep within the young wizard. Shoving it down harshly and shutting out any old scenes of the dungeons, Ron fixed his mouth in a curving, sinister smirk, ignoring the numbing sting bleeding over his lip and chin.   
  
"You want this," Lucius warned him, eyes glittering maliciously. It was not a question, more a threat delivered with vicious delight.  
  
Ron gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles turning white as the words dripped cooly from his mouth like poison; "I want this."  
  
~*~  
  
Still the shocks of intense pain racked his body, sweat beading over his pale brow. But the smile on his face only grew with each tortuous gust of recent memory playing itself out. He was relishing the traces of pain, gloved fist still tightened with white knuckles next to his bare hip. The cold in the room whispered over him as if in concern, threading through his sweat matted hair and brushing under the cover of Draco's bed half covering his body. Lazily running his tongue over the cut on his lips, Ron flicked his eyes in wary alert towards the door, fist relaxing somewhat as the drained blonde staggered inside, falling to his knees.  
  
Perching up on his elbows, Ron looked down at Draco huddled on the ground, taking in every trembling angle of his white, white body. The mercury tendrils of soft hair cascaded in damp waves down his face and curled at the end in moist twists of silver. Brown eyes tugged at the silver gaze to rise and Draco's met them slowly, his cold swollen lips parted as raspy breaths struggled through his dry throat. Ron had left him empty.Rising to his feet and moving across the room, Ron let the covers trail away at his feet, keeping one blanket tucked at his side. Draco's hungry eyes followed it, fingers leeching for warmth as they stabbed shakily through the air. "Cold?" Ron questioned with a piqued eyebrow. Draco stared up at him, some of the old stubborn resolve trickling back into his eyes. He knew. He must know.  
  
"Fine," he hissed, dragging himself heavily to his feet. He did have a cloak clinging to his shoulders, heavy with dark wetness, as if from rain. Ron reached for it, eyes hard as glass, but Draco stumbled away. "Don't," he warned, voice cracking.   
  
"You fear me, Draco?" Ron asked soothingly, moving towards the other boy slowly so as not to startle him. "It's only me; Ron."  
  
"No," Draco said, the word ending in a cut cry as a gloved fist unraveled to grip his shoulder in a tight grasp.  
  
The fright in those eyes excited Ron deep inside, as if that fear was something he had longed to see. And suddenly he found it easy to move his fingers to Draco's neck and clamp down. There was no tiny voice inside telling him to stop any more. Suddenly that fright was what he thirsted for and the fist tightened, dragging Draco's panicked face close to Ron's flushed lips, close enough to barely brush his mouth over Draco's clammy forehead.  
  
Then the pressure seemed to alight and Ron let him go. Draco gasped drily, fingers curling weakly against Ron's bare chest, not able to resist the heat rolling off of the redhead's skin. Ron encircled the blonde's waist, holding him close and all the tenseness in Draco's joints disappeared. He looked up into Ron's soft eyes, swimming in the evening moonlight filtering through the open window. Hesitantly, he trailed his fingers over one freckled cheek, whimpering when they were enveloped in a pulsing heat as Ron drew the digits into his mouth.  
  
Drawing his tongue in between each ice cold finger, visibly savoring the icy lips trembling against his neck, Ron snaked an arm around Draco's back, lifting the weakened wizard up high enough so their cheeks were touching. Then he surrendered the warmed fingers to the cold again and turned his head, sighing with the shooting, whispery sensation of Draco's lips dancing over his, and the deeper ache of pleasure as the other boy moaned into his mouth, smooth back tensing as Ron lowered him down onto the floor.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: *dies* I am SO sorry for the wait!! For once - and with bad timing indeed - my life has been..... active. O_o I also blame that little demon Writer's Block! *laughs* Maybe only one more chap; a two parter, and then we're done. Hope you enjoyed this rather risky chapter, and maybe even some of you caught the badly done forshadowing! Huzzah! *huggles* Au revior!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	10. Impromptu Part I

A/N: Yikes, I really am sorry for the wait. Though I suppose I'll pay for my belatedness with a drastic lack of reviews. *sheepish grin*  
  
THANKS TO....  
**GLEH: *crouches over keyboard pathetically* The lower half of my body is wracked with agony due to my running struggle. I actually sprinted. *dies*  
**Sheena: Ron the Dark Lord? *thinks* What a delicious idea, dollface! *wink*  
**KIm: Sorry to make you wait so long again! *sobs*  
**Kenna Hijja: I have always been partial to Lucius/Ron, too. *grins* Glad you liked my chap!  
**tofu-muffin777: Here it is after long last!  
**sarah: *teary-eyed* Thank you.... *sob*  
  
Chapter Ten: Impromptu (Part the First)  
  
Dusk caressed the land as the sun gently swayed on the thin horizon. Rays of deep crimson light stretched like bloody fingers up into the shadows of the cool inner garden walls, splitting through the spidery cracks. Draco's breath caught as he watched Ron move smoothly, almost gliding, into the lines of light. The lanky youth had become a man. Red fire laced the veins of brown in his eyes and painted the pale freckles over his cheeks a dark brown, framing a black mouth and dark brows. His relaxed expression seemed haunting in the evening. Draco looked away, running his fingers through the perfect cold ivy vines adorning the crumbling walls, white skin reflecting the ghostly veins in the leaves. He felt Ron's gaze follow him when he moved against the wall with a deep sigh, his back soothed by the cool pressure of the plants against his thin shirt.  
  
Even beneath the nonchalant countenance, Ron could still feel the strain Draco was under. The struggling beats of his heart echoed through his whispery breath, puffing out of his open mouth in erratic bursts of mist. Ron smiled with black lips kissed by the dying sun, standing still in a pool of crimson light. "Look at me, Draco. Into my eyes." His tone was calm, lilting. Draco could do nothing but look up. Smirking as his gloved hand jerked within his pocket, Ron's piercing eyes stabbed through the thin veil of emotions covering Draco's face and raised one finger, glowing in red, and curled it once, twice. Come closer.  
  
Power from that gaze seared through him like fire and Draco gasped, legs folding sharply beneath him. Clenching his teeth in helplessness, he threaded his fingers in the long grass, gripping it tightly as Ron stroked his crown. The touch of the warm hand sent chills down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. His eyes were anchored to the hold he kept on the grass and he resisted stubbornly when Ron tried to raise his face. His resistance was met suddenly by the semi warm pressure of dragon hyde. Eyes shivering in their sockets, Draco's neck clenched and twined as his face was titled upwards, barely brushed by Ron's gloved hand. He stared at the smirk adorning Ron's lips, breath hitching in his chest as the bare fingers danced softly over his face, closing his eyes.   
  
"Look at me," Ron murmured. Draco obediently opened his eyes, tears shining in them, burning like drops of flame in the fire light of the setting sun. His cool on Draco's heated skin, Ron pressed his lips fleetingly to the other boy's forehead, tongue tracing a cold trail down over his cheeks. He never broke their gaze, hooking Draco's tearful eyes to his own, taunting them, lulling the sweet tears to fall. Carefully pressing his fingers into Draco's soft hair, Ron suddenly gripped the silver strands tightly, shoving his hard grip back over Draco's head, tearing his fingers through the boy's hair, compelled by the wet friction of their lips crushing together, of Draco's neck craning back against its will.  
  
As Draco's hands fluttered over Ron's face and chest, he looked away from the redhead, gazing down at their barely parted lips, breath mixing, hot and cold. Then he made the decision. Apprehensively, Draco drew his arms around Ron's neck, avoiding the piercing stare fixed on him unblinkingly. Giddy fear raced through his veins, fueling the pounding of his heart. Ron's breath had grown softer, quieter, his hands never slowing in their methodical strokes. Draco then looked up into his eyes, blinking away the tears, and moved closer to the redhead, pressing their foreheads together, noses brushing, lips aching. Then of his own accord, Draco slowly tilted his head so that the familiar taste of Ron's lips filled his mouth. But it was different this time. It was a quiet kiss. He cautiously pressed past the other boy's lips and fully tasted the redhead, sighing as Ron responded, hands having actually paused in Draco's hair.  
  
They sat that way, tasting each other like new lovers.  
  
Draco became eager, altering the pressure of his kiss, sighing into Ron's mouth, making quiet sounds as their lips meshed again and again, rhythmically tongues twisting in dance.   
  
Ron was quieter, more systematic. He was still as Draco's hands clutched at him, the silver eyes slipping halfway shut; dreamy, dazed. Intoxicated. Delirious.... The gloved hand rested sinisterly on Draco's chest, right over his heart. Ron moved his eyes to it, staring down at the uncovered fingers sprouting from the leathered palm and wrist. With a thin needling sense of malice, he curved his index finger, waiting, satisfied as Draco emitted a shuddering breath, desperately moving against him now. He curved the finger a little more, his whole hand curling against the skin over Draco's heart. He could feel it beat faster beneath his fingers as Draco moved against him, tears sprinkling their lips. Then with a terrible feeling of treachery, Ron clenched his hand and Draco arched back as if hexed, his eyelids fluttering, fingers grasping empty air for Ron. And he smiled at the youth, looking hungrily over Draco's swollen lips and how they shaped his name without sound, and the desperate way the smaller wizard held his chest, as if he had been shocked in the heart. Ron gazed down at his hand, flexing his fingers. Shocked in the heart.   
"Draco," he whispered, "Draco my love."  
  
The smaller boy looked up, eyes misted over, rolling back in his head with delirious pleasure as Ron reached under his shirt with the other hand and stroked his stomach.  
  
"Draco, you must tell me where I can find something."  
  
~*~  
  
Harry lay back on his elbows, sour sweat dripping into the empty socket of his eye and stinging the raw skin there like dabbing needles. He clenched his teeth, struggling to quell the unsteady shaking of his skeletal thin arms. His knees were bent and lifted, feet resting on Riddle's lower back. The older boy was crouched between his splayed legs, hunched over Harry, not touching him, but watching as the young wizard fought to stay upright. Blinking sweat from his lashes, Harry winced as Riddle's lips curved upwards as if drawn by twine. Pressure seemed to nearly break his hold as Riddle leaned forward and pressed a dry kiss to his brow, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat glittering over his scar.  
  
Dismissing Harry's quiet whimper, Riddle leaned into him, moving his lips over Harry's cheeks and nose, then tilting his head so that he felt the same little jolt as always when his lips brushed the boy's. Looking down through lazy lashes, Riddle studied Harry's swollen mouth, shifty breaths caressing his own mouth as he ran his tongue over his lips to moisten them. "Harry," he whispered. An unfocused green eye answered him. He smiled. Putting his weight on his right hand, he stroked Harry's face with the other, feeling over the prominent cheekbones and sunken jaw, eyes flicking to look into the dark hole where a green pool once reflected the world. And as he did, a heat so intense that the air rushed out of him swept his body with a pleasant gust of desire. He lifted Harry's chin and compressed his index finger and thumb on either side of the young wizard's mouth, forcing the cracked lips to part as the green eye closed slowly in defeat. Growing impatient with the heat swelling in the pit of his stomach, Riddle lapped at the dry lips, moistening them, tasting coppery ribbons of blood. Hissing quietly, he rubbed against the jutting hip bones, reveling the pulsing friction between their bodies. His fingers clutched at the husk beneath him, clawed at the mottled skin stretched over frail limbs. Wanting more, he thrust his tongue inside of Harry's mouth, seeking the heat lying within to feed his own growing need.   
  
Harry's arms gave way and he fell back stiffly against the bed, the coarse sheets ripping at his skin. Riddle seemed to be devouring him, the cold taste of his forked tongue forcing its way down his aching throat, blocking air. Teeth knocked against his own, and the burn of his shredded lips sent shocks of tears to his eye. A heated pressure assaulted his body, a sick heat that sucked the sweat from his glands, leaving trails of prickling salt. Hands rubbed over his jutting ribs, groped for the sick heat between his legs. Harry rocked against the sheets, his eye rolling wildly and making him dizzy with visions of gray and black. Riddle pressed him, harder, teeth gnashing as the pressure grew, the heat worsened. Harry felt his insides being torn, body aching out over his skin as if the skeleton could hold no more. His eyes whirled faster and faster, sheets tearing at his back, body screaming under Riddle's weight, under his sick heat. Delirious with the pain, fingers locking spastically, Harry sobbed dryly as a vivid point of red crossed his vision. He reached towards it, hand jerking through the air with the force if Riddle's heat inside of him, burning him alive....  
  
"Harry," said Ron, his mouth unmoving. The cool wood of the scythe rested heavily in his gloved palm. It thrummed at his touch, the sleek blade of orange fire crackling, obscuring the scene before him. Through the writhing flames he saw a shining pool of green light, fixed on him with a sudden violent intensity.  
  
"I knew you wouldn't leave me," Harry whispered.   
  
Ron's lips twitched as strength seemed to flood the skeleton with the green eye. Pale dead limbs jerked to life and locked around the figure of Tom Riddle. The scythe moaned in his hands, alive and thirsty. Ron moved forward stealthily, drawing close enough to the bed so that he could smell the stench of Harry's unwashed flesh and Riddle's heat. With a pleasure derived from the murdering blade, Ron raised the scythe above his head, staring deeply into Harry's eye, even while the last of the boy's energy held Riddle still when the Dark Lord sensed danger. And before the tip of the blade sunk into the core of Riddle's spine, Ron could hear the weak crack of Harry's arm, hear his breathy cry. Then sound was lost to him in a brilliant numbness as the blade was buried into Riddle's back. The figure writhed and squirmed, black power spewing in founts from the wound. And with his Mark pulsing in his skin, Ron roared as he tore at the scythe, dragging it down with impossible might and splitting the Dark Lord's spine. Through the dark blood, Ron saw sparks spitting from Harry's forehead as the boy screamed in dry silence, stoppered by blood flooding his throat as the body of Riddle fell still, falling to cover Harry completely. Ron pulled the scythe back, feeling the blade's cruel pleasure as the spinal cord ripped free wetly from charred flesh.   
  
As if unblocking a dam, Ron was shoved backwards by a fist of focused energy. It rose from Riddle's motionless form like a fighting serpent, spewing forth bursts of stinging residue that wilted the air. Ron threw the thick sleeve of his cloak over his mouth as the Dark energy arched in the air and shot towards him like a rocket of rage. The roaring sound shook the walls and Ron dove to the side, scrambling to his feet in time to dodge another attack. Riddle's spirit glided along the wall, violently beautiful; Its gaping mouth opened wide to shoot a stream of the lethal residue, covering Ron in a black cloud. The jaws closed over him, his arms flailing, and the Hell Scythe whipped free of his grip, flinging through the air and striking Riddle's body, stabbing its sleek point right through the most powerful Dark Mark.  
  
Ron coughed, scrubbing his eyes as his lungs filled with rancid dust, mist and foul. Managing to clear his vision, he looked at the Hell Scythe, now sated, and the blade buried in the mattress. There was an outline etched in the cloth, as if a body had laid there. And as Death itself, Harry was covered in the outline too, the blade barely making contact with his shoulder. His whole body was wracked with tremors, mouth thrown open as if still screaming.  
  
The heated pressure had died inside of him.   
  
The Mark on his arm blazed all the brighter, burning the skin around it. Ron regarded it with satisfaction, his eyes moving to Harry as the boy stirred. A smirk grew over his lips when he looked at the boy. Stepping closer to the bed, Ron took the scythe from the mattress and leaned it against the bedpost, looking down over Harry with an odd expression on his face. With the gloved hand, he touched Harry's forehead and the boy gasped, eye rolling to stare at Ron in terror before relaxing into a frenetic expression of joy and relief. To see the happiness bathing the sunken, dying face, Ron gripped the blade harder. Anger rose within him. This boy was weak. Vulnerable. He touched Harry's scorched chest with his cool hand, grimacing as the skin burned him. Harry moaned, his lips shaping Ron's name. Ignoring it, Ron presented the blade, resting it against the hollow of Harry's ribcage. The boy suddenly looked confused. Ron smirked as the blade murmured. The power was untouched. He leaned a little on the handle as a thin stream of blood appeared, pooling at the blade's tip.   
  
Rip the binding, free the power...  
  
Harry, despite the pain it took to think, shoved his relief away from him in panic. Though he didn't want to believe it, the pain of the blade was very real and so was the person causing it. He had no doubt in his mind that this boy was Ron, no doubt. "I turned you into this, Ron," he whispered haggardly, trying not to flinch as the blade paused, "I told you to give in to the Mark. Remember?" He managed a weak smile. "Remember our promise?" Ron remained impassive, fingers flexing around the handle of the scythe. "I told you we could beat this power together. But I was wrong." Ron's lips twitched. "I was wrong, Ron, and you were right. My trust in you hasn't faded at all. You've saved my life-" he choked as the blade drew more blood "-countless times. It's hard to think of life without you there." It was as if he were speaking to a statue. Panic flooded his mind again. "Ron! Remember when you were made prefect? You and Hermione, but not me. Do you know why, Ron? Because you deserved it more than I did." A trickle of blood started out of his mouth, but he swallowed it, his voice gaining strength as the dryness was quenched by it. "Why did you gain this power?" Ron seemed to pause again, his face contorted. With his waning strength, Harry reached forward and brushed the wrist of Ron's glove, his fingertips unconsciously touching the final remnants of the chalk portrait. Ron winced.  
  
A sudden sharp pain stabbed through his forehead and he reeled, the blade pulled free of Harry's stomach. Ron jabbed his fingers at the spot, snarling as flashes of the tiny chalk Harry entered his mind. The blade in his hands moaned with mournful loss and he blinked furiously, eyes darting over the empty room and barely catching sight of Harry's foot as it disappeared out the ajar door. Fury boiled in his veins, the Mark pounding with rage. Ron swept to his feet, twirling the scythe over his head as he ducked through the door and strode calmly after his prey, following the trail of blood droplets over the stone.   
  
Harry heard Ron behind him, heard the butt of the scythe's handle striking the ground with every step. With wet breath tugging at his ribs, Harry dragged himself down the hall, leaving bloody hand prints as well as a trail of blood from the wound leaking through the fingers that vainly tried to block the flow. Dismissing the fatal trail he pushed through a side door, leg giving as his foot dipped on a stair, sending him half falling half running down the winding staircase. He emerged in a dank chamber filled with shelves. Harry held his stomach, bare feet aching terribly as the ground met too close to bone with every step he took over the grimy floor. Eyes adjusting to the dim light cast by a single torch, he was able to discern the shelves as wine holders. Looking closer, he saw the brands matched those that Sirius would sometimes share with Lupin. Sirius had said that the Black family was notorious for there partiality to wine brand 222. And every bottle here was labeled the same. This chamber must've once belonged to Narcissa Malfoy, but now lay abandoned and unused since her death when the Aurors began to hunt down Death Eaters. He gingerly touched the dusty bottles, drawing his hand back swiftly as several spiders scuttled over their webs covering the holes where the bottles rested. As Harry watched them, he heard the faint sound of wood striking stone close by. His heart clenched so that the blood pounded in his ears and he could hardly breath. But a coolness had broken over him, and he felt no pain, and no fear as the quiet settled upon him like a heavy veil. His eyes remained on the scrambling spiders and the shifting liquid in the wine bottles, like blood.  
  
~*~   
  
Malfoy library was a grand chamber, despite the evil which lay within the pages of the dusty volumes. Beautifully carved shelves ran the walls and brushed the vaulted ceiling, towering over the chairs circled in the middle of the vast room. And a man in one of the chairs smiled at this fact, his narrowed eyes like silver bullets moving slowly over the lines and lines of books, studying each spine with a careful eye. In his hand he gently swirled his drink, the movement casual, uncaring. As he spotted one especially ragged book, he took a small sip, letting his eyes slip shut with pleasure as the drink bathed his tongue.  
  
"Grand Marnier," Lucius murmured, taking another sip before setting the glass down on the edge of a shelf as he reached up to retrieve the book he had been looking for. It was heavy in his hands, and the rank pages were damp. He ran his fingers over the spine, lips moving as he uttered an incantation. Lucius smiled when he opened his eyes to find the book had landed on the page he wanted. A feeling of giddiness stole shamelessly over him while his fingers spread out over the page, touching the words lying there in faded Latin. Just as he leaned down to smell the age of the book, Lucius heard a quiet step behind him and calmly turned.  
  
The novice Death Eater was known to his comrades as Cutthroat Cain. Foolish though it was, the title fit him. He yearned for blood and preferred the knife to the wand, sneaking up behind his victims and opening their throats with one careful stroke. After witnessing the work of his comrades and being one of the worst himself, Cain had thought that he was a brave fighter, conniving and cruel. Not even the Dark Lord could frighten him. But as he stepped meekly into the Malfoy library, he found his breath hard to catch, his legs hard to control. As if the darkest core of his soul had been prodded into and this library held judgment. And the slender man standing across the room looking at him was the Angel of Death awaiting his last return. He winced as Lucius Malfoy's slicing eyes narrowed.  
  
"Thurnor." He addressed the novice by his surname, the man's first slipping his mind. But as the young wizard stepped cautiously closer, Lucius spotted the huge knife dangling from Thurnor's belt and he smiled. Cutthroat Cain. He whispered the name appreciatively before meeting the trembling Death Eater's pale blue eyes. "What is it?" Instead of invoking the wrath of disturbance upon this young man, Lucius set the heavy volume down to listen, taking up his glass and lazily airing out the Marnier again as Cain sputtered. The library would not have aloud his living body inside if the news he brought was anything less important than a major occurrence. Since he had not even been notified of Cain's presence, Lucius had a distinct feeling that this news would affect him directly.  
  
Cain looked at his feet as he recounted the information another Death Eater had given him. He was at the site for himself, but he trusted the older witch's words to Lucius more than his own. He recited them exactly as she had instructed, sheepishly sneaking looks up to catch the subtle changing of the blonde man's pointed face. Lucius' eyes became slate stone, his face growing into marble. Cain gripped his knife, reassuring himself as this terrible man melted into something cold and impassive beyond comprehension. And he finished with what the witch had told him, her eyes having been shining with an odd light of awe. "And Polonaise had said this act was committed with the Hell Scythe, sir." He swallowed. "Harry Potter is nowhere to be found, and same situation with the redheaded boy. Yet the Dark Lord was without doubt-" he took a deep breath, lessening the sickness "-destroyed by a Death Eater." He looked up again, this time quite frightened to see that Lucius' eyes had come to brilliant life, burning out of his face like gems.  
  
"Our Lord... dead." Lucius paused as the shocking information sunk in. And yet he knew. Somehow, deep inside of him, he knew. The feeling he had had was the reason for him coming to the forbidden chamber of his book collection. And this feeling had found the book with which he could absorb all of the Lord's Dark Powers. For the Power was still to be found. He smiled, and Cain shuddered. A horrible light entered his eyes and Lucius' long white fingers tightened excitedly over the glass in his hand, shattering it. Cain stepped back.  
  
He was aware that the others at the site of his Lord's death were expectant of Lucius to regain the station of power. Some of them accepted this fact grudgingly, but no one living was as dangerous and cunning as Lucius Malfoy, the Dark Lord's right-hand man. But Cain was terrified to think of this man holding that power at his will. He cowered in the face of Lucius' dawning glee, gulping heavily as the elder Death Eater subconsciously crushed the glass shards in his hand, showering the floor with a thin spray of blood. Then he remembered the other thing he was meant to tell and raised his voice lest Lucius not hear. "Sir, what of young Draco? Your son-"  
  
"Is expendable," Lucius finished smoothly.  
  
~~~_~~~  
  
A/N: *snarls* Yet again I've gone over the limit for a word document. So please continue on to the next part, and I apologize for the two-parter inconvenience. *sobs* I only wanted a max of eleven chapters, dammit!!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	11. Impromptu Part II

A/N: 'aloo! So yes, here's what is supposed to also be chappie ten. Anyhoos.  
  
Chapter Eleven: Impromptu (Part the Second)   
  
He had him cornered. Ron took a moment of pleasure for this, moving the tip of the blade back and forth in front of Harry's blank face. The boy's hands lay in his lap, loosely clenched as if he had given up struggling. A vacant look in his eye made his gaze wander and even as Ron crouched down in front of him, the eye did not make contact. Ron narrowed his eyes and reached forward boldly, running his hand over Harry's face, touching his lips and lingering there for moments as a dull ache centered in his chest. He had an urge to touch Harry more, make him acknowledge that he, Ron, was here. Half of him was disgusted by the feeling. Bemused at this trifling internal battle, Ron gripped the back of Harry's head, lip curling as he tightened his grip enough to crane Harry's head back, pale lips falling partly open. His brown eyes focused on the parted lips, anger fading as his brow furrowed. He was suddenly so confused. Now he wasn't distracted with the need to force Harry to be still. Harry *was* still. Deathly still and it was alluring to him. Annoyed with himself, Ron put the tip of the Hell Scythe's blade to Harry's bare chest, resting it very gently. Then he leaned forward on his knees, pressing on his bare hand which lay on the ground in between Harry's sprawling legs. He paused momentarily, just a breadth away from touching Harry's lips. As he did, the dull ache became a sharp pain and with grudging acquiescence, Ron brushed the darker wizard's lips. It sent shivers down his spine and the ache burst, catching his breath. Frowning, Ron drew away, tasting Harry's cool breath before ducking his head again, lips encircling Harry's mouth and enveloping it, drawing the other boy's tongue into his mouth as his fingers curled in the ancient dust over the floor.  
  
Pain from being so still raked at his nerves, and the bitter taste of Ron's mouth roving his did nothing to aid him. Harry allowed Ron to push him further against the shelves, ignoring the sharp pain it brought to the back of his sore head. But his legs hurt more. As he had been clinging to Riddle when the Lord died, the power released had burned him, and the dark energy had fought against his legs when he held Riddle down. They felt raw and weak, so even if he had tried, he couldn't have stopped Ron from placing a hand on his chest and pushing him over to lay flat on his back, the scythe's sharp tip feeling even more focused and dangerous now that gravity was on top of him. But it was the perfect position. Harry held his hand away from Ron, carefully enough so that the redhead didn't notice the movement. Then as Ron stretched over him, using the scythe to hold him steady, Harry encircled Ron's back and dove for his collar, thrusting his hands inside and opening his fists.   
The spiders scrambled from his hold.   
He felt them fall down his back, and crawl over his skin. He felt the spiders through the very core of his being, and from there it came; a surging wave of fear so intense that Ron threw himself across the room, retching and writhing over the ground, bathing himself in his own vomit. Through hazy vision he saw Harry roll away to safety, dragging his thin body along by his hands. Then Ron's vision turned red, and a heat so terrible stole over him, fueled by the blazing fear that had erupted in his mind. His ears were being ravaged by hot pokers, eyes gouged out by knives, tongue and mouth stabbed by thousands of needles. He was experiencing the worst of panic. The insane fear built stronger inside of him and he felt himself heave again, and a loud voice bellowing in his ear, fingers clawing at his insides. The fear was fighting to break free of him, and nothing he could do could stop it. Emotion from somewhere long ago stormed his power, his fury, beating him down within. He realized as he collapsed against the wall that he was suffocating, that he was being smothered by this intense, damnable terror. And with raw horror, he watched as a small spider crawled from his cloak, the fear rising so that sound was cut off from him, crushed by the roaring heat of utter panic. Blindly, he reached toward Harry, screaming, screaming so that his head would burst from this torture. The Mark began to bleed heavily down his arm, but he took no notice. He was being smothered....  
  
Harry watched with a frightened expression as the redhead threw himself around the chamber, smashing himself into the shelves, ripping at the stone walls. He could see the spiders still crawling over him. And he could see that the redhead was trying to break himself apart. Ron was trying to escape the spiders. As Ron finally collapsed, hand still frozen, reaching out to him, Harry crawled near, coughing in the vile dust rising from the floor. He paused as one last spider crawled from the body, scuttling past him in a blind pull to its web. And he smiled at it, washed with relief so pure that he felt he would cry. "Ron," he whispered, "Ron, they're all gone now."  
  
Ron sat still as Harry stroked his sweaty brow. He was nestled in the other boy's arms, shivering uncontrollably. Even though he had wanted to leave desperately, Harry was convinced that it still wasn't safe. Ron listened to Harry, despite his inability to comprehend the words. He felt cold and empty. As if he had been wrapped up in a tight blanket, then just had it ripped from him. So he sat there while Harry spoke, resting his head against Harry's shoulder, one hand, once gloved, twined with Harry's. The glove itself now lay across the room next to the murmuring scythe. Ron stared at it. He knew. He knew everything. Harry thought that he had been asleep, trapped this whole time. But really, he was just constricted. Fighting the urge to push away from his friend, Ron closed his eyes, tucking his chin into the crook of Harry's neck. "It's still here, Harry." His voice was quite calm, and steady. "The Mark's healed already, and my hand doesn't ache."  
  
Harry leaned his head back against the shelf, not meeting Ron's eyes. "I know. I'll think of something."  
  
Ron smiled weakly. "You always do, eh?"  
  
He inclined his head and Ron shifted closer to him. Harry was unable to hold back a smile, despite himself and their impossible predicament. "Yeah," he said, turning his face just a little so that is nose was buried in Ron's damp hair. Looking over the fiery crown, he noticed the Hell Scythe still lying where Ron had dropped it. Without even thinking, Harry's gears began to creak into action inside his head. Ron jerked against him as his arms unconsciously tightened around the redhead as the idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. "The scythe," he cried, disentangling himself from a confused Ron and reaching towards the weapon. His legs spasmed slightly, but he ignored the prickling pain and scrambled over to the weapon, finally gripping it with both hands as if it would slip away. From the other side of the room, Ron was on his feet, watching him with a frightened expression. Harry began to laugh, the sound throaty raw.  
  
Not knowing what Harry could possibly be thinking, Ron chose to be cautious and approached Harry slowly, craning his neck to keep track of Harry's face as the boy turned to get to his feet, using the scythe for support.  
  
Elation coursed through him. Harry weakly turned to Ron, clutching the scythe still, his knees barely holding, and grinned at him. The redhead looked apprehensive, so Harry took a deep breath, his words calmer. "I can't believe we didn't see it before, Ron! This scythe, it'll suck the dark stuff out of you. We'll both just make a tiny cut in the Mark and I think that'll act like a channel for the power it still has over you."   
  
He barely heard Harry's words. Grinning, his eyes remained on the scythe and a pungent relief washed over him, almost bringing him to his knees. Could it be so simple? "Do it now then," he said earnestly, baring his arm, careful not to look at the Mark. Harry nodded and tipped the blade, barely pressing it to the inside of Ron's elbow, wincing as drops of blood appeared, only to be drunk up by the scythe moments later. "Make it deeper, Harry," Ron urged, the pain cleansing. Harry complied carefully, cutting the length of the Mark, straight down the middle. And for an instant the snake's eyes seemed to flash, and then Ron felt a terrible heat descend over him, filling his veins. Sweat rolled off of him, but when Harry made to pull away, Ron urged him on through clenched teeth.  
  
The scythe drank greedily, and Harry noticed that the blade was growing blacker and blacker, sleeker and all the more beautiful in its ominous way. He looked down at the droplets of blood and gasped to see that the blood was black. Eye flicking to Ron's face, Harry saw with some fear that Ron's head was thrown back, his mouth drawn open and emitting deep groans from his throat. Despite the horrible scene though, Harry could also see the lessening of the tension along Ron's shoulders, and was relieved.   
  
When the Mark had paled down to a stark white outline, Ron signaled Harry to stop, the droplets of blood having become a flow of red again. It hurt, deep and harsh. Yet the sight of a pale Mark brought him to tears and with a wave of weakness, he leaned into Harry's arms, the other boy maneuvering the scythe well away from him. Sobbing now, his eyes on the Hell Scythe, Ron clutched Harry's chest and closed his eyes as the shorter boy was forced to lean against a wall for support, his knees audibly shaking.  
  
He wanted nothing more than to hold Ron now, knowing that the redhead wouldn't be tortured any more on his account. But he was still bothered by the fact that the Mark remained there, even if the color gave hint at it being nothing but a dry husk of its once staggering power. The snake's eyes continued to give off a dull shine, and the skull still made him imagine the high pitched laughter emitting from its dead maw. A sick feeling crept through his stomach and immediately he was angry with himself, ruining this moment of peace for both him and Ron. Even as he tried to force it away, he knew that Ron could somehow sense it, like always.  
  
"I know, Harry," Ron whispered, still not looking up.  
  
Harry held him tightly, all of his anger and frustration pouring into his limbs, feeding the passion he felt for this boy in his arms.  
  
"I can control it, Harry. Don't worry." As he said it, he knew it was pointless. Harry always worried. Since he was young, The Boy Who Lived was also a boy who held the whole world upon his thin shoulders. And Ron could see those shoulders were close to breaking. But there was nothing he could do. The scythe had drained the power as much as it could. Unless he was willing to risk his life force, he could not go any further - would not - for the power from the Mark was a part of him now, like it or not. Looking at it so practically made him smile though. It was how Hermione would look at the situation, as opposed to Harry's determination to risk anything, and his own fear of acknowledging it.  
  
"C'mon, Ron." Harry tugged at Ron's hair. "You're going to crush me."   
His voice was painfully light, and Ron recognized that Harry was in a desperate mode, whereas he would most likely do something stupid. In his weakened state, Harry wouldn't stand a chance if they ran into anything short of one Dementor roaming about. He handed Harry his outer cloak and drew one of the boy's trembling arms over his shoulders, ready to carry him if he showed any sign of falling. So taking the scythe from Harry safely in one hand, he supported the darker boy to the closest room outside of the secret cellar and let him rest as he kept watch.  
  
In a closet near the bed Harry found ancient looking robes and trousers, frowning as they hung around his knees, fully buckled. Used to it with years of his cousin's second-hand elephant suits, Harry improvised with a number of robe ties he was able to separate from the cloaks. And after a pile of about seven well worn cloaks, Harry had constructed a promising belt of fine cloth around his tapered waist. Then, as Ron lay asleep on the bed where Harry left him hours ago (promising later to tease Ron about "sleeping on the job") he began to dig through the drawers of the gigantic dresser, half his scrawny body disappearing inside one compartment before jerking out with a sneeze of dust. The cold air stung his skin and he bit his lip with impatience. Cloaks, trousers, makeshift belts - but no shirts.  
  
He was dreaming of someplace warm and dry. Someplace like the kitchen of the Burrow where his mum would be baking and keeping an eye of Fred and George's wandering hands near the pies already laid out. Then his dream changed, and he remembered sharply of first meeting Harry on the train, first meeting Hermione. But the train melted away into the torture of Quidditch practices, Christmas, and kissing Hermione under the mistletoe in seventh year. A smile adorned his mouth and then he was grinning as Mad Eye accidentally blew up a stove in Snape's face, or when his dad came home in a brand new cloak. But the warmth began to wane and Ron's fingers twitched as the air around him grew cold and he saw a wall in front of him, dotted with thousands of holes in which crumpled bags were stored. One opened, and a face turned upwards in violent pain, calling out to him. He screamed, turning away as Ginny reached towards him, her crying joined by the voices of Hermione, Neville. Others chorused their pain to him and he ran away, feet silently slapping against the ground, leading him into another room, not so vast a place, but just as cold. There was a bed, and there on it lay Malfoy. Draco. He beckoned to Ron with a bloody hand and Ron saw with horror that the wizard's body was covered in carved Marks. All except his face which called to Ron, gray eyes melting away, sliding down his face and searing over the wounds on his shallow chest, sockets struggling with stringy veins and ugly sores. His voice, weak, grew louder, Ron's name sounding hysterical on his lips, which shrank away from his teeth in vile decay, the skin rolling back over his nose and brow, shedding away his locks of silver. The screaming in Ron's head reached a climax, all ending in a sweeping roar as Harry's face emerged from Draco's, uncovered by the peeling flesh. He touched Ron's face, hand reaching across the room, single eye running with green poison....  
  
"Ron," Harry whispered, flinching as another explosion rocked the floor beneath his feet. The long sleeve of the shirt he had dug up fell over his hand again, brushing Ron's face. Harry jumped as the redhead awakened with a start, his hand flying to Harry's face. "Ron!" Tugging up his sleeves again, Harry prodded Ron on the shoulder. "We need to leave. Now." Brown eyes suddenly becoming clear, Ron nodded numbly and stumbled after Harry as they went out into the hall, looking wildly down each corridor. Harry could feel his heart pulsing madly in his throat, choking him. He looked down at the scythe in one hand and shifted his fingers around the heated wood. Then, grabbing Ron roughly by the wrist, they ran swiftly down the darker hall, staggering as another quake hit them.  
  
The Mark on his arm kept catching his eye as they ran, swinging in and out of his view as Harry ran faster, holding tightly to Ron's left arm. And as they felt the wave of the spell gust over them again, shaking the walls, he heard Harry's cry of surprise as the Mark came to sudden life, glowing like a white beacon to their mutual horror. It dawned on Ron what the quaking had been caused by. "Their sending waves of spells throughout the Manor," he moaned. "Sweeping for us!"   
  
Harry grimaced and pulled Ron into another room, shoving the redhead into a nearby wardrobe with himself and slamming the heavy door behind them. The scythe's blade pressed close to his neck, but he ignored it, the panic abating in the closed space. Ron's eyes shown with fear over the faint glow of the white Mark. Harry looked at it, his mind drawing a blank. What could they do? The Mark sent out a signal whenever the spell would pass over them, giving away their exact location. Harry winced as the powerful tracking spell bowled over them again, and both their faces were bleached with the Mark's glare before it died down again. It was only a matter of time.  
  
Ron saw the look of defeat of Harry's face and felt his own will crumbling. Sobbing dryly as another wave brought life to his Mark, Ron slammed his back into the wardrobe wall, angry tears stinging his face. What he didn't expect though, was for the shaking to continue, vibrating jarringly against his back, the wall shifting. For a moment he knew for sure that the Death Eaters were going to sweep down on them, but then his back was leaning against thin air and he was falling, grabbing onto Harry's outstretched hand at the last second and sending them both tumbling backwards into blackness.  
  
The intense cold hit him first, the core of a festering storm. Harry's breath whooshed out of him as if he'd been punched. Beside him, Ron was whimpering, pressing against him desperately. With a sinking feeling, Harry rose to his feet and groped blindly in front of him, a sadness rising inside of him so deep and complete that he felt the darkness pressing into his pores. It was then that he heard the deafening rustle caused by hundreds of cloaks, and the hollow rasp drawn by hundreds of empty breaths being inhaled. The cold grew more intense. His skin hurt, tightening over as the frost started on it. He could distantly hear Ron sobbing, his ears felt stuffed with cotton, and he could sense the familiar heavy presence that could only be hundreds of Dementors surrounding them as well, recovering from the sudden entrance made by the two boys. They had fallen into their den.  
  
All the lights had gone, and even his Mark grew quiet and flat against his arm again. None of this he was aware of though. He was going to die of the cold. His joints had frozen up, and his mind was filled with every piece of sorrow he'd ever felt in his life. Ron curled up on the floor and began to cry, his sobs scraping over the granite and drowning in the rushing rustling of the cloaks and dead breathing. He knew what they were, and he knew that without a wand not even Harry Potter could overcome hundreds of Dementors with nowhere to run. He reached a blind arm out for Harry and found his hand, clutching it tightly. Breath hitching painfully in the cold, Ron felt Harry press close to him, stand him up. They stood together, not a scrap of air between the two, surrounded by their death. Ron looked up into the blackness and imagined what it would be like to live without living. Then he paused, aware of the Dementors resulting closer, but distracted by the sight of a thin window over the swarm. "Harry," he choked, tongue heavy, unresponsive. But he felt his friend nod. "This is the entrance hall. The door is just over there; I can see a window."  
  
The words didn't matter, not even their meaning. Harry barely listened, focusing only on the happiest moments of his life to keep the Dementors' mournful illusions out of his mind before he drowned in the darkness. But his eye did catch the feeble slit of light in the blackfaced wall. Ron's voice sunk in. If they could just reach the light - but no, there was no chance, not with so many. The handle of the Hell Scythe felt slippery, so Harry held it tighter, feeling the butt of the cool blade touch his cheek. They only needed light.  
  
Ron could feel Harry pulling the Hell Scythe closer and a desperate thought wedged itself into his mind. There was no sure way to truly kill a Dementor. You could only banish them. They were made of souls... and the scythe drank souls... "Harry!" he cried, "The scythe! Attack them with the scythe!"  
  
The redhead's breath hit his neck and turned to ice. Harry shook his head. "I need light, Ron. Just think happy things-"  
  
Panic swarming over his common sense, Ron instead shoved away from Harry and dove into the closing crowd of Dementors, knowing that they were waiting for orders and would hesitate to Kiss the boys just yet. With that thought spurring him on, Ron whipped out his left hand and grabbed the wrist of a Dementor, screaming as the Mark on his arm came to sudden and painful life, sending torrents of agonizing electricity up his arm. Light poured from the blazing Mark, dark powers clashing, bathing the Dementors in a harsh white light. They reeled back, cloaks sweeping around their dead limbs, glimpses of their opened mouths appearing fleetingly beneath their ragged hoods. Breath like screaming came from the Dementor Ron held and he clutched at it harder, yelling as another Dementor swept over him, rigid fingers closing over his throat, "Harry!"  
  
Blinking away the painful light, Harry watched in shock as more and more Dementors closed over his friend. Thoughts whirling in a blind sweep, he roared and plowed through the first line of dark creatures, swinging the scythe back and forth. The Dementors glided back swiftly of their own will, avoiding the burning blade, keeping cautious distance as Harry neared Ron, who still clutched onto a Dementor. Harry raised the scythe above his head and with a mighty blow, brought it down upon the Dementors' head, screaming as his scar erupted with sickly green light.  
  
Ron squinted up into the faceless gray mass, his mouth working silently as the creature above him made a haunting sound like the whistling of a winter storm and folded back over itself like a rag doll, dragged away from him by Harry. He sat up, holding his arm high over his head so that the light bled freely around the room, illuminating the hundreds of cloaked figures stirring on the edge of the room, all their hands weaving through the air, breaths harsher, heavier. They were angry.  
  
The blade jerked in his hands and Harry held tighter, slicing down the Dementors front and opening what would be its chest. He watched as tangled masses of gray and white flowed out of it, all streaming steadily into the Hell Scythe. When the Dementor's body was nothing but a shriveled skin, Harry turned to the others, light percolating like thick ooze from his body, the pain subsiding and leaving behind a dull thrum. Reflected in the sick green glow, his one eye blazed with fury for the creatures watching him sightlessly. And he smiled slowly, anger heating his brow, pulsing through his veins as if draining from the Hell Scythe's fire into his own spirit. Looking back once to see if Ron was all right, Harry hefted the scythe once more and charged the Dementors, who in despondent retaliation came at him with outstretched hands, hoods thrown back to reveal their wrinkled faces and evil mouths.  
  
With brown eyes wide and legs weak, Ron saw as the whole of the Dementors teemed over Harry like a hive of ants, crawling over one another with insect like movements, suctioning into any space with their mouths, hand stabbing into each other to get through to the boy. Ron gasped as the last scrap of light from Harry's scar disappeared and the heap shifted as if a weight had given out. Fear flowed through him and with his one good arm, Ron began to drag himself over, breath labored already, the Mark's glow only getting stronger. As he drew closer, the stench of death grew as well and Ron nearly burst his lungs to move faster, uncaring that he was committing suicide, only knowing that he had to help. But as he rolled onto his side, arm locking underneath him, he noticed that panes of light were appearing through the slits of space the Dementors had left between their gaunt bodies. Ron paused, feeling the air distinctly shift around him.   
  
The pile of Dementors started to shake, racking tremors skittering over the floor, spears of light panning out from the tottery mound. Pressure in the air intensified, and suddenly as if a bomb had gone off, the dementors condensed tightly into a ball, then exploded out from each other, flying in all directions, smacking against all four walls with cracks of bone and whispery screams. And in the aftermath, with the Hell Scythe held up, Harry Potter stood unharmed, his scar bleeding heavily through the green light.  
  
Ron stared in awe at the spectacle, eyes blinking wide as Harry suddenly swayed, dropping the scythe with a resounding clap to the ground. Struggling up onto legs that were asleep, Ron helped Harry stand, the boy seeming so small now in the oversized shirt and baggy trousers. Ron smiled a little, brushing back Harry's curling fringe and uncovering his bolt scar which was already healing. A little blood had trailed into Harry's empty socket so Ron gently began to wipe it away, pausing as his eyes drifted over the raised arm, noting the way the Mark still seemed to be alive. It still gave light, and that was all that mattered. He didn't know how long the Dementors would be out, or if they would be coming back at all. So hefting Harry's bulk on his shoulder, Ron dragged his best friend towards the entrance door; a large oak atrocity with gargoyles and demons carved into the woodwork. They watched his approach with Harry, their beady eyes sinister and cruel. Keeping a steady (if agonizing) pace, Ron tread on, pointedly ignoring the faces until one of them uttered a bloodcurdling laugh, his ruby eyes sparking. The others joined the first and soon the hall echoed with their insane laughter, the door shifting oddly in the wavering light of his Mark. It was then that Ron heard it.  
  
"Trying to *weasel* your way out, boy?"   
  
~~~_~~~  
  
A/N: That is such a bad line... I love it!! And as it is, there will be no more heavy petting scenes. From now on out, it's pure fluff-ish!! I'm not good with fluff, so don't expect too much in that department. I mean, I won't have the boys running about in bunny ears or anything.... *pauses on that delicious thought* Well. Goodness. *blushes* Au revior!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	12. Scythe's Dance

A/N: I don't think of myself as being a procrastinator, or lazy. I think of myself as a meticulous writer who needs time in order to adequately please her readers. *fake smile strains* I also am aware that you folks aren't impressed by big words. *throws herself down on her knees* FORGIVE MEEEEEE!! *sobs*  
  
THANKS TO (after long last).... **Erae: You wanted chappie 12? How about 13, 14, and 15 as well! **Kenna Hijja: My muses kept me strictly away from fluff, I hope. *crosses fingers* **GLEH: Ah, no more sex. Happy? *cries* I'm not! **KIm: Don't be mad! The wait for these wasn't too long- *nose grows* Okay, that's a lie.  
  
Chapter Twelve: Scythe's Dance  
  
Fear surged over his raw nerves as blaring light from a hundred wands flooded the room, sweeping out their struggling shadows like clouds of dust on wind. Ron heard the terrible words made by the terrible voice as if Lucius were inside his head, pounding at the sides of his skull. In his arms, Harry whimpered, gaunt white hands closing over Ron's fingers. Brown eyes still fixed on the laughing gargoyles carved into the door, Ron carefully lowered Harry to the ground, taking off his outer cloak to cushion the boy's bruised head. Teeth tearing at his lip, Ron watched as the light from the wands behind him danced in and out of Harry's empty socket. Then he rose, fingers curling tighter around the handle of the scythe. Below him one green eye fluttered open. He could make out the word 'No' on Harry's lips. "Harry," he whispered back, "This is my fight." Their eyes met and Ron saw a single tear trail down Harry's cheek and drip from his chin to land on the floor. It looked like a diamond in the shifting lights.  
  
"Come back," Harry rasped.  
  
The boy turned slowly, the scythe lying across his chest like an accused child, the tip of the blade brushing his throat. Lucius flicked his gaze up to the boy's face, whose brown eyes were partially covered by sweaty tendrils of red hair. Gaze unmoving, Lucius waved his hand and the torches along the wall came to life. They dashed in spurts of red light over Ron's face, and Lucius saw clearly a quick glimpse of one brown eye, staring at him between dirty strands of hair. He smiled. "Just like a cornered beast, you have abandoned all sense." Automatically his eyes trailed to the scythe, clutched in the wizard's hands. The light played over the unearthly blade and Lucius sucked in his breath as shocks of color whispered over the reflecting metal. As if playing a film, he saw Riddle's face etched into the blade; his last moments of life. He saw Potter's legs locked around the Dark Lord's waist. With sick fascination he watched as the blade sunk into the most powerful wizard known to mankind. But the picture was blotted out and Lucius was forced to blink as a wave of dizziness stole over him. He could feel the redhead's eyes on him, the frigid fingers holding the scythe closer. It was as if Riddle had sent the image to him, Lucius. To evoke revenge. Fool, he thought, Your power is mine for the taking. There is only the boy to kill. "I haven't yet had the pleasure of killing a Weasly," he sneered, crossing his arms haughtily over his chest. "Their pathetic squealing as they died was always too much to bear. Such ugly deaths. I remember your father specifically." Ron's eyes snapped up to him and Lucius nodded slowly. "Yes, I remember looking into his eyes when he died. Really, there was no need to kill him then. But my Deatheaters were bored." A few cloaked figures laughed garishly behind him, enhancing the smirk on his face. "Do you want to know what he said when he died, boy? What he *whined* as he soiled his pants from fear?"  
  
"Don't," Ron snarled, the skin of his palms creaking against the sweaty wood of the scythe as he grasped it. His white knuckles burned.  
  
"He cried out for his dead wife and his dead sons. His dying daughter. And you. Ron." His voice grew quiet; "Last, he called for you."  
  
Ron choked on the bile that rose in his throat. Tears rushed his eyes. He slammed the butt of the scythe on the ground, gripping the weapon tighter to hold himself up as he unwillingly saw the hideous picture Lucius was painting. The dead clap of the scythe striking the floor was echoed quietly by his voice; "Dad..." he moaned. Weakness swept his legs from beneath him and both his palms thudded the marble floor, the scythe skittering to a rest, blade curled around his knees.  
  
He couldn't see, but he heard the scythe and panic rose within him. Harry struggled vainly to turn his head, nearly yelling with frustration as the muscles in his neck tightened, tiny focused spasms shaking his breath. Ron... it was Ron who was down! His hands jerked on his chest, fingers cutting into his palms, wrists feeling hot and festered as he tried to twist them. But the rush of power he exuded before left him empty and the exhaustion had finally, finally taken hold on his nerves. There was no way he could help his friend.  
  
He had him. This was it. Lucius' gaze burned into Ron's hunched back, which shuddered with broken sobs. Between the sweaty strips of red hair, like lines of dried blood, he could see the scythe's quieted blade. Ron curled up around it, not seeing it, too absorbed in his own pain. Lucius took a step forward, hungry eyes trying to grab the weapon, take the weapon. "Eight down, one miserable weasel to strike. And your death will be just as pathetic, just as sickening." Ron seemed to shrink down into himself, his forehead pressing into the floor, hands splayed out as if the boy were trying to push through the stone. "There is no escape for your foul kind," he said in a silky voice, reaching with deft fingers to touch the crown of Ron's bowed head. "Weakness equals death, boy." Slowly, carefully he knelt down so that when he lifted Ron's face the boy's misty eyes looked straight at his mouth. "You are going to die like the rest of your pack. Even after tasting the endlessly flowing fountain of power that our Lord gave you, you are too weak, too *afraid* to withstand it." His gaze peered over Ron's head and fixed on the immobile figure beyond. "You even failed to protect Potter. You have broken your promise to that dog of a man."  
  
Something inside of him snapped. He turned his head and looked at Harry lying still on the floor, looking as diminished and broken as before. Anger threaded through his eyes, turning his vision red. On his other side, he could barely hear while Lucius kept talking, but he knew when Lucius' hand descended onto the scythe. Pivoting on his knees, Ron twisting around and hit Lucius square in the jaw with his left elbow, savoring the sharp crack when the man's teeth snapped together. Out of surprise, Lucius shot backwards and Ron scrambled at the scythe, rolling away with it tucked to his chest, dragging himself to his feet. Standing there, shaking with anger, he watched silently while a young Deatheater with pale blue eyes ran to Lucius' side, gripping him beneath the arms. Lucius pushed him away, angrily spitting out blood onto the floor and wiping a hand across his red stained mouth. The young Deatheater, his hand brushing a large knife at his side, sent a withering glare in Ron's direction. In return, Ron held out the scythe towards the Deatheater, giving him a shaky smirk, a new confidence bleeding from his eyes.  
  
Cain stepped back when the boy smiled at him, glancing at Lucius, who's eyes were glued to the redhead, a little blood still dribbling from between his lips, uncovering red teeth as he sneered. Running his fingers over his knife, Cain remembered the stain of grease upon the bed where the Dark Lord had died. He looked around the room at all the Dementors, wilted dead flowers discarded on the ground. Then he looked back at the boy who had started it all. A hot rage stole through him. How dare this boy insult their Order in this way. How dare he defy everything that Cain had been taught to believe in. He clenched his teeth.  
  
He steadied the scythe in front of him, trying to hide that he was using it to steady himself as well. But the blood running from Lucius' mouth distracted him. It reminded him of Sirius, his dying eyes, and how the blood flowed from his mouth when he told Ron to take Harry to safety. "I'm his protector," he said unexpectedly, even to himself. The words shocked him, yet as he looked wonderingly across at the rows of Deatheaters, aware of Harry at his back, Ron's muscles relaxed. "I'm his protector." He looked down at his arm, at the Mark still bleeding faint light. The sight drew from him a strength that seemed to arise only from the thought itself and he raised his left arm, taking the scythe in his right. Lucius seemed to tense, unsure. Ron ignored him, centering all of his attention onto the white skull. He remembered the crushed vase, the burning cloak. The chalk figure of Harry. Mentally he drew the scruffy picture on the back of his hand as he raised it above his head. As if particles of light were being attracted to one point, Ron shut his eyes and pictured points of power. Slowly, his brow twitching with the effort to focus, he turned the scythe so that the tip of the blade faced his arm, inches away. The energy coursed through him, and unto his eyes the Mark began to darken, only slightly. He felt a tightening on his skin, like tiny claws gripping. Hissing between his teeth and wincing as sweat flooded his eyes, Ron centered on his left hand, struggling when he had no support from the right which held the scythe. But like before in the tower room, he felt the channeling of power, leftover power that the scythe had left behind. It hurt this time, as if some invisible force were wringing his veins to squeeze all of the energy out, forcing it down his arms. He felt it chipping away, smaller this time recognizably. And he could hear the Deatheaters shifting, cautious. He pictured them all, and felt the flow easier, building an intense pressure centering over his left palm. When he opened is eyes, it was when his hand felt as if it were going to burst.  
  
The boy had gone deathly pale, but he held a tight smile on his face and Lucius scowled. The hall had fallen completely silent and all eyes were on the redhead. It seemed as if a crackling had surrounded him, curling the ends of his hair, flashing along his lashes. But it had dwindled down and now Weasly was as still as the rest of them, his face of a blank expression. Lucius held his breath.  
  
With a snapping movement, Ron whipped his arm up, shouting as he thrust the tip of the scythe into his arm, shooting a stream of energy, picturing with all of his might the image of the Mark's power. As the metal hit, something like a tidal wave crashed through his hand, dragging along his very soul as a dark and storming cloud shot whistling into the air above him, deafening his ears with high-pitched shrieks as gusts of intense heated power crackled from it. He fell back slightly, stabbing the scythe down to stay upright, shielding his eyes as the gigantic cloud rose above him, writhing and taking the shape of the familiar serpent. Trapped in awe, he watched as it turned in mid air like a whale jumping from water, then slowly curve and plummet back to earth, its black flaming jaws falling right on him, closing over him.  
  
Cain fell back from the explosion of power, shoving himself up just at the huge serpent fell onto the boy, its jaws closing around his whole body. Pale blue eyes widened as the whole cloud imploded, blasting out then circling into itself with a muted, muffled boom. Through the hazy black fog, Cain could see a faint silhouette of the boy, and a writhing eel like tentacle sprouting from his mouth, fighting to get in. He clutched his sides as the boy's stomach expanded sharply out from the rush into his mouth. Cain coughed, squinting through the smoke, and from the wispy discharge stood the redhead, now untouched with an odd look on his face, staring straight down at the floor. The scythe hung loosely from his hand, the metal turned an odd pewter color.  
  
Ron felt the old power filling him, lifting him from the ground and throwing him into dizzying light as sensations exploded from his eyes and hands. He could feel himself shaking, falling and rising, yet his feet remained rooted on the ground. Forcing open his eyes, he mistily saw the Deatheaters, swaying before him like blades of winded grasses, and the Dementors jagged stones on a flat moor at night. The room twisted and danced in front of his eyes, elating the weightless emotions he experienced. Only when he looked down at his blackened hand did he drop heavily back to earth, retching onto the floor as a sick pain crashed into him like a full-blown punch.  
  
He had landed painfully on his elbow, and still the sharp pain stabbed at his arm. Lucius rose carefully, lugging his upper body into an upright position, taking a deep breath as he saw the boy unharmed. But he paused, silver eyes moving quickly over Ron's body, his rigid back, the way his fingers slowly curled around the handle of the Hell Scythe as if he had just awakened from a dark place.  
  
The air was hot and close to him as he threw himself back from the pool of his own vomit, disgusted by it. He viciously dragged a hand across his mouth, eyes narrowed to slits of burning heat. Ron found his legs and stood, picking the scythe up with him, holding it out from him, the handle off the floor. He ached. Harry had developed a cunning plan. A vision of the boy's pale face as Ron kissed him drew a growl from between his lips. He looked down on the fully pitch black Mark on his arm, matching the unearthly tattooed leer across the skull's face. With a sated expression he flexed his arm, twisting his wrist even as the skin on his palm cracked painfully. He savored the pain.  
  
Even if the view was blocked from his eye, Harry could sense the subtle change in the air. The way it grew minutely colder. A stab of fear entered his mind. "Ron," he whispered. But Ron wasn't there.  
  
"I killed the Dark Lord with this weapon," he murmured, looking sidelong into Lucius' face. "His very own weapon forged by the Dementors that lie dead along these walls. They died by this blade." With a casual expression, he twirled the scythe in his hand, eyes glinting as the blade passed close by his face. "But it still wants blood."  
  
It was the boy's voice, but his face had changed. Cain looked at Lucius, whose face carried a contorted expression. The silver eyes were still cool though, calculating. Cain looked back at the boy, angrier than before, his anger fueled by the shame of fear. He unsheathed his knife.  
  
"Lucius," Ron called, not looking at the wizard. "You cannot break a person unless it is with pain. Then it is pure."  
  
"He's mad," Cain whispered, even as Lucius tensed.  
  
"How much pain will it take until you cry out like my father did, as you said? I want to know, Lucius." His eyes flashed across the room. "Pain for pain. Maybe I'll enjoy giving it to you as much as you did giving it to me." He smiled playfully, spinning the scythe in a circle. "I'll enjoy myself just for you, Lucius," he hissed, throwing the scythe out from his hold and grasping it from the air at the end so that the head of the blade pointed right between Lucius' eyes. Even from across the room, he could see the man flinch.  
  
An alien tone left Ron's lips, sounding wrong with his voice. When he heard Ron's threats to Lucius, his worry ebbed a tiny bit despite it. At least Ron wasn't going to side with them. Letting his back rest from trying to move, Harry stared straight up at the ceiling, listening with disdain to Ron speaking. He could just catch the sound of Ron's feet moving over the floor when something caught his attention, just out of his sights. It was white, wraith like, floating close to the ceiling of the hall. His eyes trailed over the spidery movements of it, the webs of misty crystal making up its body. Then he noticed how as it grew closer, it sunk in the air, drawing towards him as if pulled by a string. Never before had he seen a creature like this, but the intense cold that broke over him as it came ever closer gave him enough incentive to realize it was not a good thing. And when it was just descending to envelop him in a wave of ice, Harry called out, breath choked by wisps of dry ice freezing his throat, "Ron!"  
  
He heard his name. But his resentment for Harry's desperate trick still rang fresh in his mind. Looking back over his shoulder, only mildly surprised to see the same spider wraith creature as had attacked him before now attaching itself to Harry, he toyed with the idea of leaving Harry to the Manor guardian. Even as the thought formed, a terrible sick feeling centered in his stomach, focused and strong. Cursing, Ron clutched at his stomach, anger burning away the pain as he turned, hand digging into his pocket and bringing out the amulet Draco had given him. Taking careful aim, he drew back his arm-  
  
Cain saw the boy turn his back and then he sprang into action, dodging around Lucius and running flat out across the room, now the distance between their group and the redhead not so long. He raised his knife, eyes rolling wildly, and slashed it down right for the boy's throat. To his surprise, the boy twisted just in time, dropping something in the process, but managing to bring the scythe blade and Cain's own knife blade together with a loud resounding scream of metal, blocking his clean swing. Recovering quickly, Cain turned his back, stabbing through the gap of his elbow and side, hoping to get at the boy's ribs. But the handle of the scythe beat his blade and landed a heavy blow to his stomach, knocking him clear off his feet. Through hazy vision he saw the redhead scoop up what he had dropped and take aim again.  
  
The wraith he could see was hardening over Harry's body. The boy's one eye was the only thing unfrozen as the creature continued to fold over him and Ron met the frightened gaze impassively, mutely throwing the amulet. It sailed in a wide arch, falling with a splintering crack upon the wraith. As if setting off a chain reaction, the whole body of the creature shattered in place, then exploded out from Harry, leaving the amulet to slide down into a niche between his shoulder and his neck. Ron brought up an arm to shield himself from the spray of ice shards.  
  
Snarling now with every panting breath, Cain gripped his knife with both hands, determined to make a direct cut. As the redhead was turning around to face him again, he went into action, digging the heels of his feet into the ground and gaining speed over the short distance, the Deatheaters standing off just a black blur in his peripheral vision. He saw a flash of brown eyes and stabbed down with a two handed blow, only meeting thin air as the boy swiftly twisted out of the way, swinging the scythe around his back, using his very spine as a fulcrum to slash at Cain's vulnerable side. Cain cried out and launched at the boy again, missing when Ron slid lithely over the icy floor. They circled each other, Cain unsure on his feet, too angry to realize the ice shards covering the slick marble. Then the redhead came at him, exaggerating his movements as if to mock Cain. Reacting without thinking, Cain lumbered around, following the redhead's careful circle. As the boy slid to a stop, Cain launched forward, his knife leading the way. But as he leaned into his cut, his foot fell over a large jagged shard of ice and his leg went out from beneath him, pitching him forward. And with a wretched scream, he was impaled on the edge of the scythe, staring down, even as the world spun, at his own blood raining down on the ground, steaming droplets amongst the cold, cold ice.   
  
Ron yanked the blade from the Deatheater's stomach, his eyes slipping from the empty pale eyes to Lucius' fuming glare. "Such loyalty," he laughed. "I think he wanted to die for you, Lucius. But this is disappointing. I only want *you* to die for you after all." He scowled with distaste at the other cloaked figures behind the blond man, their drawn faces reflecting cruelly in the shifting torch light. "I think the Dark Lord would be ashamed of minions like you," he said nonchalantly, running his fingers around the scythe. "You haven't even attacked me yet." He could see it in their faces, there was fear there. A fear that the greatest power of the Dark Lord was in the hands of a boy. A boy who was at most more capable than any of them had imagined. "I am ashamed for him, since his power is mine now." He reveled in these words, being able to speak them with justification backing his smug tone. Even Lucius was at his mercy, but he wanted a special death for him. Looking Lucius straight in the eye, he quoted him from when he and Harry were first captured, taking wicked pleasure in the boiling rage deepening Lucius' eyes to a silvery black hue; "You are weak in the shadow of such power."  
  
"I am going to kill you a thousand times, weasel," Lucius promised, anger so intense that it slurred his words. He clenched his fists when the boy smiled at him. A lovely smile that clashed wrongly with the blood on his hands, the blank look in his eyes, the grimy sweat matting his red locks.  
  
"I would like that, Lucius," Ron replied softly, "As long as you die with me every time."  
  
As Ron finished his sentence, Lucius' eyes were drawn sharply to the movement of the scythe in those youthful hands. The boy had pulled the weapon up again so that the back of the blade was pressed to his lips. A feeling of caution swept over Lucius and he drew away, eyes darting back and forth across the room, trying to avoid Ron's dancing gaze on him.  
  
"This is your Lord's last revenge on weakness," Ron said clearly, now holding the scythe in his left hand, scorched flesh pressing with delicious pain against the wood. His Mark began to glow, lines of black etched across his lower arm, veining out from the laughing skull and slithering snake in tiny rivulets. His hand began to heal, the skin meshing together, remaining black as the evil blood healed it. When his hand was cleanly healed, gripping the scythe with renewed strength, Ron turned to fully regard the gathered group of Deatheaters, all standing transfixed, none of them noticing as Lucius slipped from their ranks. Smirking as the slick blond head swam out of view, Ron lifted the scythe into the air, drawing it to the side as if to cut all of the wizards and witches standing there like wheat in a field. Instead, he brought it slowly down in an arch, ending with it in the same position.   
  
A great whoosh of air left the group standing before him; they had been expecting worse. One woman stepped from the rows, smugly lifting her wand. "You may be able to swing that scythe, but against real magic, you will be dead." Her shiny black eyes bored into Ron, fierce and direct as she aimed her wand. She growled as he shifted the scythe so that he gripped it with both hands, the weapon stretching horizontal across his stomach, the blade faced outward. "You mock me," she whispered threateningly. Behind her, the others began to move, grouping around the woman with their wands up as well.  
  
"Wind for the windmill," Ron said. But the Deatheaters ignored him, a great murmuring of spells rising above them like a dark cloud stirring over storming seas.  
  
There were flashes of light so bright that Lucius had to squint, reaching along the wall until he found a steadfast handhold with one of the torches. He could feel a pressure in the air, stirring, centering on Ron. The multiple spells from the Deatheaters were just fueling the fire. With a tight mouth, Lucius turned his back to the room, covering the back of his neck with a hand, a shiver racing up his spine as he heard Ron's laughter.  
  
They didn't understand. Polonaise lowered her wand and looked back at her companions. The boy was completely untouched. Every single spell curved and struck the scythe, the metal sparking scarlet with each hit. A wind had emanated from the weapon, blowing through his stark red hair, causing it to whirl around his pale face, flashing over his eyes. And he was *still* smiling.  
  
"You don't listen do you?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "You've just killed yourselves." The scythe rose into the air again, Ron bending his body like a hockey player about to shoot a goal, the scythe's wicked point looking to slice their legs from their bodies. His eyes narrowed, the scythe humming in his grip, tremors along the wooden handle beating at his palms. Light flickered over the group, sparking in their eyes, still angry. Ron laughed low in his throat, moving sideways with the scythe, sweeping it along behind him as he ran a few steps, sliding to a stop and letting the scythe follow its own path in a slow circle, as if he and the weapon were caught in water. Then he let go, releasing the tight hold he had kept on the power thrown at the scythe, striking its blade, but never sinking. As his hand left the handle, a sharp blast of wind threw him heavily into the opposite wall, his insides jarring harshly, lungs fighting to break from his ribs. Through the heavy, twisted pain in his gut, Ron looked up into the electric whirlwind starting from the scythe as it continued to spin, faster and faster, the blade scraping the ground and leaving deep grooves in the marble.  
  
Lucius heard the horrendous scraping as the blade sunk deeper every time, beginning to move sluggishly across the ground in a crooked circle around the Deatheaters. He heard the sharp intake of breath even through the blade's cutting path, and the Deatheaters calling to each other, shooting irrational spells of great power, only to feed the scythe's growing speed, cutting the blade closer and closer.   
  
They pressed together, panic thick through the shifting air over them. Polonaise screamed, her long black hair whipping above her head. She was shoved to the outside of their tight circle, and was the first to see the scythe catch in the floor and propel itself into the air, spinning with wicked fiery heat which burned her face. The blade sunk between her eyes.  
  
His back was pressed against the wall, his hand holding his stomach, the other bracing him. Ron watched the slaughter with no expression, his eyes peering straight through the spray of blood and the screaming masses of bodies. His gaze pierced Lucius and the man's silver eyes rose to meet his. They regarded each other over the death of the witches and wizards, Ron satisfied, Lucius impassive. As a hysterical witch was shot into the air, Ron lifted a single finger and pointed it at Lucius, upper lip curling over his teeth in a garish grin.  
  
The amulet felt heavy and cold on his collarbone, bruising it. The whistling force of the stifling winds pressed it harder into his skin, the heat rolling over him like too many heavy blankets on a humid summer night, smothering him and he couldn't move. Something like fever stole through his veins, cooking his blood. Harry choked as bile rose into his throat, sick from the heat.  
  
The bloody scene was coming to a close. Ron could see that only one or two Deatheaters were still alive. He waited patiently for the last death cries to wind down, the scythe standing alone in the pool of blood and gore. His eyes were still on Lucius, whose silver glare had gone to the scythe, which all at once burst into brilliant flame, down to the very bottom of the handle. Both Ron and Lucius winced as a retched scream tore from the scythe when it tipped over, setting flame to the bodies. As they burned, Ron shoved his fingers into his ears, trying to block out the mournful wailing of the burning scythe, yowling and screeching like a dying beast. It filled and ripped at the air, a final explosion of black smoke pouring from the mass of fire, billowing up to the ceiling of the hall. He knew it wasn't over, the power had not yet died.   
  
He stared up into the tower of crackling smoke, bursts of flame spewing from it in cut screams. Terrible heat rolled off it and Lucius shielded his face again, stumbling back as the great black tower roared with flame and life for fleeting seconds, then with a last horrible shriek it fell, as if a collapsing building, down into nothing, leaving a blackened circle on the floor, and nothing more.  
  
A/N: Be patient; we're still building, people! *stress*   
  
~*Villain*~ 


	13. Feel the Devil

A/N: And we're back!  
  
Chapter Thirteen: Feel The Devil  
  
Silence descended on the room, cold and empty in the wake of the scythe's last storm. The two wizards still standing looked at each other across the bloodied expanse of the floor, each breaking away from the wall and walking to the center of the room.   
  
Lucius' hair had flipped into his eyes and he brushed it away, studying the redhead closely. Ron was very still, his blackened hand lying across his chest, resting over his heart. He felt insulted that this child was unharmed, fear suddenly gone from him now that Ron was without the scythe and alone.  
  
He sensed Lucius' confidence and laughed. "You think you've won, Lucius? You think you still *own* me, even after I've killed all of your Deatheaters?"  
  
"That was the Dark Lord's power, you are only a pawn."  
  
"Whatever you say," Ron conceded with a shrug. He blatantly touched Lucius' face, feeling over a cut across the man's cheek. "Now where did this come from, Lucius? It might scar."  
  
He slapped Ron's hand away angrily. "You little bastard. You've just prolonged your death."  
  
"Why don't you make the first move, Lucius?" Ron moved closer to him, smirk daring him to try anything.  
  
Lucius leapt back from the redhead and whipped out his wand, bellowing a deadly curse which flew at Ron in a stream of red. He snarled as Ron dodged the spell, hitting the magic with his blackened palm and deflecting it. Breathing hard, Lucius came to a stop, eyes narrowed into wary slits. As if the power that healed his hand also created some kind of shield. He frowned.  
  
"The difference between you and I, Lucius, is that greed did not trigger the power of the Mark. I had other reasons, pure reasons that turned this power to its full potential." Ron threw back his head and yelled, "You're weak, Lucius!"  
  
His mind racing, Lucius backed away as Ron came towards him, stalking closer with a purposeful expression. "You are not yourself," he said, shifting eyes scoring the room for anything to use against the boy. "You think you control this power, but look what it has done to you. Greed does not grow as well as hate, and weakness can be a tool for power."  
  
"You're only talking through your panic. Lucius, you know you're beaten down. My power far exceeds yours and now you are making excuses for it."  
  
Lucius looked at him sharply. "By your own hand you have shed blood. Can't you recognize what is happening to you?"  
  
Ron frowned, his eyes dark with anger. "Shut up, Lucius."  
  
He had gained a little ground back and it fed him confidence. Lucius stopped backing away. "Do you think that your pathetic muggle-loving family would be proud of you now? They would be blinded by the blood on your hands. Your fool of a father cried out for his *son*," he hissed, "Not a monster."  
  
Ron exploded, throwing out his hand and shouting, "Imperio!" Lucius' eyes shut tightly, sweat beading over his brow. It was clear that he was in pain. Ron smiled, his expression clearing. "Simple Imperius curse, Lucius. But this is different. Do you know why?" Fuming silver eyes stabbed into him. "In this case, I have part of you inside of me." Silver eyes grew wide. "Who is the weak one, Lucius? Don't you think that every single time you ever touched me with your disgusting hands I didn't know, I didn't have a plan? This power is truly mine, and I can manipulate it in many ways." He curled his finger and Lucius' arm coiled behind his back and reached all the way up to his temple on the opposite side. Ron savored the muffled yell as the bone cracked, broken. The pain was evident on Lucius' face. Coyly Ron lifted his chin. "Pain really does make a person beautiful. It's so pure." The other arm went, and the two limbs curled around each other as if they were snakes in a dance and Lucius cried out, falling, cracking his skull against the ground, but Ron lunged forward and grabbed his hair, tearing his head back up. "No, no. You don't do that. I'm just starting to have fun."  
  
The pain was unbearable. With the curl of a finger Lucius' leg jerked out from his body, a blood curdling pop shifting his knee and a bright red patch sprouted over his pant leg. He was almost numb it hurt so terribly. Coils of pain turned in his stomach and he pitched forward, spilling vomit over the floor as his insides shifted with the clenching of Ron's fist, shooting up the contents of his stomach. Ron stepped back, making a face.  
  
"Clean yourself off, Lucius. You're being disgusting." He slapped his palms together and a shudder wracked Lucius' body noticeably and he spewed blood from his mouth, washing away any trace of vomit from his lips. Then with a flick of the wrist Lucius rose to his feet like a broken puppet, mangled leg pumping more blood, trailing down his calf and soaking the cloth of his trousers. "Regal proud Lucius," Ron crooned, coming forward to bury his face in the man's constricted chest, "I haven't ever heard you scream."  
  
Finally an animalistic fear poured over him, cold water freezing his lungs. The boy had placed his hand on his chest, and Lucius felt pressure right over his heart as Ron slowly began to curl his fingers against the white shirt. He felt the boy's fingers as though they were claws, stabbing at his heart. It palpitated and he gasped wetly, blood trickling into his lungs. He rasped, body slumping heavily over, his head resting unwillingly in the crook of Ron's neck. The boy's arms went around his shoulders, pushing the collar of his shirt with him and stripping it from Lucius' sweating, jerking chest.  
  
Rasping breath bathed Ron's ear in hot, moist puffs. Lucius shuddered against him, his back laying bare, spine tensing as his own arms tightened behind his back, cracking higher until they had come completely around again, the popping and breaking of bones and ligaments music to Ron's ears. He smiled into Lucius' chest, bowing his head as he heard tiny whimpers coming from the wizard's mouth. "Scream, Lucius, and it will all be over." Suddenly, he shoved Lucius, punching the man square in the chest and sending him rolling to the ground. Then he stood over him, looking down with a crooked smile, a deep excitement starting in his chest, quickening his heart.  
  
He squinted upwards, struck dumb by pain, dazzled by the shrouded figure standing over him, haloed by glowing reddish gold light.  
  
Ron brought his foot down onto Lucius' throat hard enough so that silver eyes bulged, pain clouding them. He knelt down. "If I don't let you breathe, than how will you scream?" Leaning back, Ron contemplated the man lying in front of him, bruised and bleeding body shivering against the floor. "It can't be something expected," he whispered, running a finger up Lucius' stomach. "But something cliche, with a twist." Glancing over his shoulder, Ron found Lucius' wand and picked it up, feeling its weight in his hand. "Poetic justice," he told Lucius, coming back to him and going to his knees, pressing the point of Lucius' own wand between his eyes. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lucius' mouth. "Your first mistake was letting me live. Your second was letting me in." With the last word, he conjured Crucio, not surprised when Lucius' whole body arched violently, but no cry was torn from his throat. "I expected you would be used to it." Digging the wand under the skin and clenching his fist, Ron continued raising the level of the spell to new heights. A thin scream erupted from Lucius' mouth, spiraling into a hysterical growling wail. Blood misted the air after it as Lucius screamed and screamed until his throat was raw, and Ron leaned over to swallow up his worn rasping.  
  
He was dying. He felt the pain like fire bursting from the tips of his fingers and spewing out of his eyes. His soul was being beaten from his body with wire clubs, his heart slowly eaten away by acid. Shoots of pain numbed his brain, shocking the nerves still working over his body. Lucius opened his eyes fleetingly, muddled by the intense pain killing him, confused by the feathery red softness covering his gaze. Fighting through the pain, he felt something on his chest.  
  
Ron continued to absorb Lucius' screams, letting the curse slip from his control, the pain disappearing, yet the aftermath just as cruel. With his hand lying flat over Lucius' chest, Ron lowered his head to listen to the erratic heart. He closed his eyes, weary. Exhaustion ached through his limbs. Opening his eyes to peer into Lucius' face, Ron focused and narrowed his eyes, watching as Lucius looked over at him, face broken as his body, blood trailing over his cheeks and forehead from where the wand had pierced him. Then Ron sat up, taking hold of Lucius' hair and dragging him upright. He was staring into Lucius' eyes as he unleashed a huge bolt of power from his hand, opening his mouth to scream as he felt himself drain out, blowing out Lucius' back, those silver eyes holding his gaze even as they both died. Ron fell back, falling past Lucius' face, eyes widening suddenly as words left those dead lips, brushing Ron's ear.  
  
"Imprison them."  
  
He struck the ground hard enough to knock his gaze askew, but he was too heavy, too tired to move. His body felt drained in such a deep way that Ron knew he was dying, knew he was dead. Eyes swimming in and out of focused vision, he slid them over his arm, where the pressure and the ache was gone. Suddenly everything went quiet and he blinked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. With his right arm, he dragged his left arm up, almost shoving it into his face. "The Mark," he whispered, tremors in his voice; "It's gone." The skin was bare and white, still a naked patch in the sea of freckles. But it was gone. He gasped, eyes flying to the figure of Harry across the room, still lying down, one arm scratching at the wall. Worry flooded out his amazement and Ron threw himself over the floor, scrambling to Harry's side. "Harry," he cried, shaking his friend by the shoulders. "Harry, please," he begged, turning Harry's face towards him and sobbing brokenly as a bright green eye blinked at him.  
  
"Ron," he whispered, breath caught as Ron hugged him closely. "I knew you would come back."  
  
~*~  
  
He felt it even before he saw the windows crack. Startled, he rose from his bed. It could only mean one thing; Lucius was dead. He gasped as another window shattered and he barely turned in time to block stabbing shards of glass. Stumbling out of his room, he braced himself on the wall. He had felt the crashing below, but he had been afraid. Still, even after Ron had left him, he felt drained. Something had happened. And now it was as if a pressure had lifted from his body, like something holding him up let go. Looking down the hall as another window blew out, he started down deeper into the Manor, hoping he would make it in time.  
  
~*~  
  
Ron refused to let Harry stand by himself. He held him in both arms, ashamed as Harry was still forced to walk. "I'm sorry, Harry," he mumbled. He had been ripped open and now everything, his very soul, lay open and vulnerable to the world. But Harry was his anchor. He felt his gaze and turned his head, smiling.  
  
Harry leaned his head into Ron's, taking a deep breath. There was nothing to say. Everything was so unbelievable. And they were so close; Harry could almost touch the heavy front door. But as he reached forward, they heard another door slam open from the other end of the hall. Simultaneously they whirled, Ron teetering a little on his feet, red hair brushing against Harry's cheek.  
  
"Draco?" The pale eyed boy was walking towards them, his eyes traveling all over the hall, barely brushing over his dead father or the Dementors before coming to fasten on Ron's face. Ron was painfully aware of how weak he and Harry were. As Draco came closer, he tensed against Harry's side.  
  
He had made it in time. Ron looked pale, but all right. Potter had looked worse. They both held each other and Draco frowned, quickening his pace, stepping boldly over Lucius' body and stopping within touching distance from the two wizards. He opened his mouth to speak when a sharp whistling started in the air and Draco's heart beat faster as he tried to catch Ron as the redhead fell, Potter right beside him. They lay writhing on the floor, clutching their ears. Draco stood over them, helpless. He looked back at Lucius' body, anger propelling him over the floor and rage sending his foot deep into the blond corpse's neck, the body sliding over the ground. "Why?" he screamed. "Why do you have to take everything from me, even in death!?" He looked back at Ron as the redhead let out a piercing scream, bashing himself into the wall. Then Draco noticed above his head that a crack had appeared in the vaulted ceiling, traveling fast down one wall and opening in the floor. "Dammit," he hissed, running back to Ron's side and pulling him up, shaking his shoulders. "Ron," he yelled into the redhead's face. When Ron didn't respond, only screaming louder as Lucius' curse took hold, Draco slapped him, glaring hotly into blurred brown eyes. "I know it hurts," he said, pressing his mouth to Ron's ear to be heard above the whistling that was only faint to his ears. "Lucius cast one last spell, Ron, and if you don't listen to me now, you'll die." He tried to put every ounce of urgency into his words, but Ron still seemed not to understand, his white hand reaching out for Potter. Draco turned his eyes from that sight and slapped Ron again. "Listen," he bellowed into Ron's face, bringing his wrist clumsily to Ron's mouth and making a small incision with his wand. A painful stream of blood entered Ron's mouth and the redhead flinched, pulling away. "Don't be stupid," Draco pleaded, forcing Ron to take the blood, letting his breath out as Ron stopped resisting. "My blood will block out my father's Siren song. It only affects those who have no Malfoy blood." Ron sucked harder, his eyes silently thanking Draco through his haze.  
  
The terrible whistling which had filled his ears faded and Ron could think again, pulling Draco's wrist from his mouth. "Harry now," he said. But Draco's face grew dark. "Draco," Ron said as calmly as he could, "He'll die!" An old hatred burned in the silver irises and Ron cried out with frustration, taking the wrist to his lips again and drawing on Draco's blood, holding it in his mouth and roughly bringing Harry's face around, forcing the boy's mouth open and letting the blood slip between trembling lips.  
  
Draco watched with a sick feeling as Potter slowly stopped struggling from the pain and gripped Ron's shoulders, taking the blood into his mouth. He swallowed eagerly and Draco turned away, his mind sluggishly wrapping around the damage growing in the hall. Lot of good the blood will do if the Manor ends up collapsing. Draco grimaced. Damn Lucius, he thought viscously. He had overheard Lucius once telling another Deatheater that if he were killed, the Manor would destroy itself. And the Siren's call had been developed to rid Lucius of any unwanted and unrelated guests. It was as if the call came from the person's blood itself, destroying them. His thoughts were interrupted as a slab of the ceiling crashed to the ground mere feet from him. He turned back to Ron and Potter, lip curling as Ron helped Potter forward. "We need to get out of here or that blood won't do you much good." He pointed at the ceiling as another piece loosed and fell. "The house is destroying itself. And if we don't get out *now*, then we're all done for." He tried the front door, frown deepening. "And it looks as if the Manor likes that option best."  
  
~*~  
  
He hadn't noticed the balcony before, but as Draco tapped his wand against his palm, trying to coax a rope out of it while Harry scowled, Ron remembered sharply when he had stood up there, overlooking the first sight of the Hell Scythe and its unusual powers. He clenched his jaw, shutting out the picture of Harry looking up a him and whispering his name. Instead, he concentrated on keeping Harry upright. The wizard was using up all his energy in glaring holes through Draco's skull. He wished Harry would stop being himself for a moment and banish his grudge against the Malfoy until they at least got out of this mess alive and with all limbs intact.  
  
A thin rope shot from the end of his wand. Draco quickly directed it skywards and followed its agonizing progress up the wall until it obediently curved around the balcony banister. He tugged on it a couple of times, assuring its sturdiness, then nodded sharply at Ron. The redhead pushed Potter forward and set his hands on the rope. Draco sneered at the sight, careful to not let Ron see. Potter looked like a crippled child. A scowl replaced the sneer when Ron hefted Potter up onto the rope high enough for him to curl his legs around Ron's torso so that all the weight wouldn't be so heavy on Potter's flimsy arms. Then Ron took the rope and the two, looking like a giant - if somewhat disoriented - man, began to climb the rope with steady slowness. Draco moved forward as another crash sounded, as if a thousand windows burst at once. He paused, a shiver running down his spine. Glancing quickly up at Ron, Draco looked back over his shoulder at Lucius. Something narrow and cold swept through his chest and for moments he couldn't breathe. He felt a breath caress his brow with a cool touch and for a second, just a second, his father's eyes seemed to shift. His fingers tightened spastically over the rope and he whipped away, the cold feeling centering in his stomach like a ball of lead. And as he climbed up after Ron and Potter, he tried to rid himself of the sight of his father's dead, smirking lips.  
  
Harry watched the back of Malfoy's head as they walked, where several cowlicks flipped the silvery white hair out in obstinate angles. It was obvious that he had just gotten up from bed. All the angrier that they were not only trusting Malfoy, but trusting him when he was half asleep, Harry had to bite his tongue for Ron's sake. Despite the absurd circumstances, Malfoy was their only hope while he could barely feel most of his body. Beside him, Ron was walking a little faster than was probably good for him, keeping up with Malfoy's merciless pace. Yet neither Harry nor Ron made any protest at the speed they traveled because they could see as well as hear the urgency of the situation. Windows blew out on each side of them while slabs of stone continued to fall from the ceiling, making it entirely more difficult to navigate the passageways, according to Malfoy. Harry didn't want to trust anything Malfoy said, but he could witness for himself the truth of the matter. Regardless, he would have preferred to travel alone with Ron and let Malfoy save his own slimy skin.  
  
He sensed Harry's frustration, but ignored it. Another jagged chunk of rock hit the floor near his feet and he jumped to the side, rushing Harry into the wall. In front of them, Draco turned and Ron met his impatient eyes. For a moment Draco's face cleared.... then he continued, Ron half jogging to catch up, Harry scowling along with him. He didn't know where they were going, but the route was vaguely familiar, as if he'd traveled this way in a dream. As his mind touched on the thought, a stab of pain erupted on his forehead and his sight was dotted with black as he crumpled to his knees. Blearily, he saw a gray figure run to him, another's arms already clutching him as he hit the floor, blood flowing into his eyes and closing over them even before his lids lowered.  
  
If he could only remember what tapestry it was. Stopping, he scanned the dusty walls, coughing as a short gust of dust blew out at the trio, hitting Draco full in the face. Breathing with thick coughing gasps, Draco stumbled forward, looking back to see the two others following carefully. Still waving dust from his face, he barely heard Potter's sharp yell. Whirling on his heel, Ron's name on his lips, Draco was caught halfway by a sudden blast of debris, showering him with flecks of stone and wood. Swimming through the dirt, he nearly tripped over Ron lying on the ground, face gray with dust, body covered in it as if he were made out of ash. That thought chilling him, Draco dropped to his knees and cradled Ron's head, shooting Potter a dark frown when the other wizard put out his hands to stop him. Blood was everywhere, coating Ron's forehead, seeping through the dust blanket quickly and uncovering the damage. Silver eyes darted to the side and Draco saw where a suit of armor had been struck by a slab of ceiling, letting loose the spear in the knight's gauntlet. "Dammit," he whispered, grabbing the nearby spear and stabbing it into the middle of his shirt, sawing away until a strip of cloth came free. Under Potter's furious eyes, he dressed Ron's wound carefully, unable to keep dust off of the injury.  
  
He hovered over Malfoy's shoulders until the pale-eyed wizard had secured the last knot in the makeshift bandage. Then he pushed past him and gripped Ron's shoulders, tightly, fear hurting his stomach as he leaned over to whisper into Ron's ear desperately, "Wake up!" Next to him, Malfoy stood up, looking around before starting off. Angry, Harry called after him, "You're just leaving?"  
  
"Idiot," Draco growled back, not caring whether Potter heard it or not. He walked over to the shuddering wall nearest them and yanked a ragged tapestry down and brought it back, laying it out over the floor. "Get his legs, and be careful."   
"No. I'm taking his shoulders."  
  
"Are you bloody mad? You can barely hold your own wait," he snarled wearily, practically shoving the raven haired boy out of the way. Draco lifted Ron's shoulders gingerly, wincing as the redhead's neck craned down. Potter grabbed Ron's feet and together they lifted him onto the tapestry. Motioning to grip the edge, Draco's stretcher held Ron's weight as they continued on through the passageway, luckily avoiding any other stray pieces of lethal debris.  
  
His eyes were on Ron's face, almost thankful now that he was holding his friend's feet. This way he could watch Ron's expression in case he woke up. The serene look over his best friend's face was the only thing keeping him from collapsing under the strain of dead weight. His back was screaming and his legs shook with every tottery step.  
  
Draco grimaced as he stumbled, breath hitching in his chest. The sickness was spreading. He could feel it pulsing beneath his skin. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he ignored the heavy sludging in his veins as his blood rotted, pure will alone keeping him upright against the mind numbing pain. But the faint smell of decay rising from his own flesh made him choke. Damn you, he thought viscously. Tongue twisting inside his burning mouth, he parted his lips and threw his bloodshot eyes to the wall, facing away from Potter. The painting hung there of one of his ancestors flickered with familiar light in Draco's mind. He remembered the same portrait, only last time he had seen it the pale face had been swathed in moonlight. They were getting closer.  
  
Malfoy's face was twisted under the thin veil of sweaty blonde hair. It stuck to his forehead, turning an odd yellow color. Harry narrowed his eyes; Malfoy's whole face was tinged with a sick yellow color. Careful to step over a ceiling beam, Harry took his eyes away from Malfoy's constricted face and focused on his feet moving methodically over the floor. He'd worry about Malfoy's complexion when he had time to care. But as he walked, it kept nagging him, and he found himself continually glancing up at Malfoy's face, blinking his own hair from his eyes and panting through his chapped lips. His arms and legs were getting stiff, and every step jerked Ron's lower body. Looking away from Malfoy and at Ron's face, he slowed down to a crawling pace.  
  
Draco glared at Potter hotly. What was he bloody thinking? Angrily flipping the hair from his eyes, he stopped. With his temper already boiling from the sick heat rolling over his body and pulling the putrid yellow wetness from his pores, Draco couldn't stand to go slower. He needed cool air or he would explode. "What are you-"  
  
Before Draco could finish his sentence, both he and Harry were knocked to their knees by the gigantic force of the ceiling down the hall crashing down. The very foundations of the crippled Manor trembled and Draco barely managed to cushion Ron's head before it struck the floor. Draco and Harry looked at each other, both sets of eyes wide with fear and surprise. Nearly scrambling, they both rose to their feet, leaving Ron where he lay, and waved their arms to hurry the dust from their faces. Then Draco took a step forward and gasped, nearly stumbling into Harry.  
  
He stared down with angry shock at the gaping hole in the floor before him. Startled and dumbfounded that anything could smash through the Manor floors, he glanced up, covering his mouth from a shower of dust and saw with amazement that a gigantic section of the ceiling and the floors above it had fallen through. "Bloody hell," he cursed softly under his breath, turning to look at where Ron was resting on the ground. Potter began to cough, coming up next to him and staring dismally downwards. "Our only chance to get out is on the other side," he voiced lightly, more to himself than to Potter.  
  
"Convenient," Harry murmured, meeting Malfoy's sharp look with a heated glare of his own. His anger flashed momentarily with the quickness at which the pale boy looked away. He growled, "You can't even look me in the eyes."  
  
"Thick as ever, Potter. I die too, remember? Lucius doesn't think of things like family when it comes to the Manor's self destruction. He dies, the Manor goes with him, taking anything and everything along with it." Unconsciously he gripped his turning stomach, hoping Potter didn't catch the odd stench surrounding him. His heart strained in his chest, and he sat heavily down, worried if he could rise again. Staring hard at the ground, he blinked, lip curling at the thick liquid running from the corners of his eyes and down his face in hot streams. His right hand was beginning to go numb as the blood slowed and slowed.  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder at Ron, almost hearing his words: 'Stop it,' he would say wearily, moving forward to peer miserably over the edge of the artificial cliff, 'Right now we need to figure out how to escape. Save your energy for that, not arguing.' Harry sniffed and ran his fingers through his dust matted hair. "Listen Malfoy," he said, "We need to think of something quick. For Ron most importantly." The pallor of his best friend's skin frightened him so much.  
  
"I still have my wand," said Draco, his mouth twisting into a bitter smirk. The idea was only a last resort. He had never excelled in hovering charms. And that was when he was in a peaceful atmosphere at Hogwarts or at the Manor. Here among the crashing and splintering wood and stone, the thought of completing a spell was impossible. No doubt Potter's *support* wouldn't help any either.  
  
"To do what?" Harry spat, avoiding Ron's serene expression. "You're not doing any magic."  
  
"My magic got us out of that graveyard, you idiot," Draco retorted, the bite gone from his tone, but the anger still there. "Unless you can jump this thing, Potter, we're stuck." A little part of him was relieved that Potter wasn't optimistic about his magical abilities. The shaking of his limbs was beginning to gnaw away at his nerves and he found that even speaking was starting to become difficult. If he didn't get somewhere cold, his ability to speak at all could disappear. He cast his eyes downwards again, facing away from Potter's piercing eyes. Draco opened his mouth, panting like a dog and lolling out his tongue to hang wetly in the dusty air, swollen and turned a spoiled purple color.  
  
"Dammit!" shouted Harry suddenly, dropping to the ground and pounding his fist into the floor again and again until his arms buzzed with the force of the blows. Next to him, Malfoy flinched, lifting his head and smacking his lips with a pained expression that melted away when Harry looked him in the face. "Malfoy," he whispered, "Lend me your wand. Pass it over and I can-"  
  
"No," choked Draco roughly with a new wave of fierce and helpless impatience, not with Potter but with the stifling heat and the hurting of his tongue, the stinging of his eyes, and the slow, slow turning of his blood. "My wand is mine alone!"  
  
"Give it here," Harry said calmly, now standing. A small gust of dirty air stirred his hair and Draco's lips drew back over his teeth.  
  
"I'll break it before you *ever* touch it, Potter."  
  
Fists shaking at his sides, Harry took a step forward. "Do you want to die, Malfoy? Because if this bloody Manor doesn't kill us all, I'll kill you first!"  
  
Draco shrunk back like a cornered animal. "Don't touch me, Potter," he hissed, spittle flying from his lips.  
  
Harry paused. "Malfoy? What's wrong?" He squinted through the murky air at the veins bursting from Malfoy's eyes and that sick yellow color draining over his sweating face and arms. Instantly his green eye widened as he fixed his gaze on Malfoy's mouth, the stinking breath whistling heavily through blackened gaps decaying between curling teeth. Harry fell back. "Malfoy," he said weakly.  
  
Panic flooded his eyes and Draco felt his hand shoot out from his stomach and catch Potter about the neck, pushing him backwards, the streaming of his eyes burning down his face, the dying yellow of his skin shining wickedly metallic even in the the dark and dirty light. Potter yelled wretchedly, swinging his arms like lumbering logs, thumping over Draco's back. He didn't want to hurt him, but *he* hurt so much. Boiling silver eyes watched as his own hands cut off Potter's air, the white nails turning blue at the base, the cuticles drying and falling off to float down through the air like particles of dust. Blood gorged inside him, pushing out his mouth in a fall of crimson, splashing wetly down onto Potter's front.  
  
Malfoy's blood stained the oversized shirt with an ugly smell. Harry threw his head back and forth, tears prickling his eyes from the sting of absent air and the horrible cold of the stinking blood covering his chest and dripping down his sides. Malfoy's gaze was inhuman, staring him in the face with the ferocity of a beast fighting its own death. He struggled against the blonde boy, screaming as he tore a chunk of hair from Malfoy's skull. The scream seemed to surprise Malfoy as much as the blood pumping down over his face from the wound. His fingers loosed and Harry thrashed, throwing the hair into Malfoy's face and rolling away, his hand closing over Ron's wrist. On contact, a calm settled over him, and the struggling of the world around him stilled. Ron's face was so quiet, so peaceful. The red of his wound soaking through the makeshift bandage stood out like a bleeding heart. Harry rested his cheek over the redhead's cold white knuckles, barely flinching as the lower half of his body sunk in the air as the edge of the hole gave way, tearing him down with Ron, spinning through the air as Malfoy followed, his bloody mouth open and screaming. Harry pulled Ron close as he felt the ground embrace them all.  
  
A/N: Ehem. Still not done, guys. *averts eyes*  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	14. Silver and Gold

Chapter Fourteen: Silver and Gold   
  
They sat quietly on the bed as Ron slept without looking at each other. After falling into a mountain of what was once the Manor's fourth and fifth floors, Harry and Draco were able to crawl out unscathed. Harry had held Ron to him as if he were his child, glaring cooly at Draco. But Draco was in delirium. Exhaustion took its toll and he collapsed. Leaving him there, Harry had wandered down the hall to find the room where he and Ron had discovered clothes before falling into the Deatheaters. When he lay Ron down on the bed, the redhead's eyelids fluttered and he made a small sound, gripping Harry's hand in the faintest of holds. For no reason, Harry had then went back to where Draco lay curled up, fingers clutched awkwardly over his chest, and helped him stand. Now they sat in silence, both mulling over the rage Draco had experienced. The dislike between them had faded in the face of this new dilemma.  
  
"What's happening to you?"  
  
Draco laughed. It was quiet, barely a whisper of breath. "Lucius always had it planned this way." He refused to say anything more.  
  
Harry ventured to the drawers of the dresser and found cloth for Ron's bandages and a new shirt for himself. Malfoy came behind him, and Harry watched from Ron's side as the blonde tried to open the drawers. His frail arms - looking wasted and brittle - were obviously useless. With a stiff regard, Harry pulled the drawers open smoothly for him. Without looking at Malfoy's face, he went to the wardrobe where he and Ron and fallen through, and pulled out a heavy black traveling cloak with a large volumous hood. Mutely he handed it to Malfoy and the boy threw it on over his new shirt from the dresser, securing the long row of brass clasps down his front with fumbling fingers. Harry almost helped him, sickened by the sight of Malfoy so weak. Though it puzzled him as to why, Harry always thought Malfoy as a strong person. Seeing him now made Harry feel almost helpless. If Malfoy's iron reserve melted away, only Harry was left. Shaking it off, he ran his fingers through his hair, watching Malfoy move his hand over the deep hood. After he lifted it, Harry couldn't see any inch of skin exposed. An eerie feeling stole over him when Malfoy glided back to the bed and sat down again, frame hunched. One frail hand, surrounded by heavy cloth, rested on Ron's arm. A wave of protectiveness rose in Harry, followed by a bleak weariness. He joined the pale eyed wizard on the bed, lying down next to his friend and gently closing his eyes. The last sight he saw before sleep was the side of Ron's face, ivory white.  
  
Draco pulled his knees up to his chest, watching Potter's black lashes shiver, and Ron's remain still. The redhead looked almost dead, and yet in his face there was a peace more prominent than the blank tension over Potter's features, seeming to pool in the empty socket like poison. It took all of Draco's will not to lie down beside the two other wizards and sleep. But he couldn't. With tired eyes he looked down at his uncovered wrist, and how the blue veins turned green under the translucent yellow surface of his skin. If he slept, if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again. He would never wake up. Potter curled his fingers under his cheek, tucking his chin into his chest, and exhaled slowly. The sound scraped along the white sheets. Next to him, Ron's steady breath breezed past a few wild strands of black hair, sending them swaying. The scene threw Draco and he rose from the bed slowly, the cloak sliding after him like a living figure of dark shadow.  
  
Malfoy Manor was dying, and he was dying. Lucius was dead. The Death Eaters were all dead, the Dark Lord dead. The Dementors gone. And the Hell Scythe banished again into its birth of fire.  
  
And Ron had done it all. This pale boy with this bloody bandage had massacred them all. Draco reached out to touch him, then drew his hand back with a clamoring breath.  
  
The metallic gold glow to his skin reflected the light of the remaining torches in the chamber. He twisted his thin wrist as an earth shattering boom crashed to life above his head, and he looked up, drawing his arm back beneath the cover of the cloak. They must keep moving.  
  
He hadn't wanted to touch Potter, but his voice wasn't strong enough to rip the boy from slumber. With the lightest of touches - Draco unable to hold back a wince at how his hand stood out harsh yellow against white skin - Potter's hands shot over his torso to grip Draco's wrists, that one green eye trained on his face. While Draco could almost feel the bones in his arms shattering into mush, the other boy sat up, moving automatically away from Draco, in turn putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. The redhead didn't stir and Draco felt a sizable feeling of triumph that Potter was unable wake his friend.  
  
"We'll have to carry him," Harry pointed out, speaking slowly, resenting the slur of exhaustion shaping his words. Malfoy had risen from the bed like some gaunt bag of bones. He couldn't see the boy's face at all, and part of him wanted to rip the cloak away, just to see. "Can you do it, Malfoy?"  
  
"Can you?" Draco shot back, eyes squinting against the torch light, liquid draining from his blinking eyes. Not that Potter could see.  
  
"Not alone," Harry grated out grudgingly, avoiding Malfoy's eyes from beneath the hood while he anxiously moved Ron's hands to his sides. "Let's try and at least wake him up."  
  
They both reacted as a small sound escaped from Ron's mouth and suddenly he was looking at them, blinking slowly, mouth turned down while he tried to fit where he was. Both hands moved over his bandage and he gave them a little smile.  
  
"Did I take a fall or something?"  
  
Harry burst with a smile. "You were attacked by the ceiling."  
  
Ron's eyes moved to Draco and he laughed a little, hollowly. "You haven't killed each other yet?"  
  
Draco managed a weak smile, but meeting Ron's eyes pained him and he looked away.  
  
Noticing Malfoy's unease and worried Ron would become suspicious, Harry hooked an arm under his friend's upper back and raised him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?" Even to sit made the muscles in Ron's back tighten and Harry shook his head, lowering the redhead back down, his chest constricting. How could they get out fast enough?  
  
"Don't," Ron coughed weakly, squirming back up to grip Harry's shoulder tightly, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. Dots of white light danced before him and he steadied his shaky breathing. He could feel Harry's breath labor to even hold him sitting and he ground his teeth with the effort to keep himself upright. Harry's as bad as me, he thought bitterly. Stopping to grip his head, Ron realized the thickly bound wraps were moist in one area. He brought down his hand and paled. There was a thin discoloration over his palm; blood. A sense of urgency filled him and he pushed himself off of the bed, Harry catching him on his feet. Air rushed to his head and he wavered momentarily before steadying. He looked back at Draco, who kept his head down.  
  
He was going to ask him what was wrong, Draco thought in a panic. His eyes flew to Potter as the boy moved to distract Ron. But the redhead began coughing and Draco was spared. "We need to get moving," he said quietly, stomach turning at the rancid hot breath which poured from his mouth. His lips abruptly came together, sourness sliding over his swollen tongue. He flushed under Potter's blatantly curious stare and turned sharply toward the door, already starting out.  
  
The going was tough enough with his own troubles, but Ron definitely couldn't make it alone and Harry would be damned if he made the redhead work too hard. With each painful step he would watch Ron sidelong, measuring each breath his friend took, watching the hurt brown eyes squint in the dust. Merlin, Ron, he thought desperately, Please hold on.  
  
He almost wished Harry would stop looking at him. The pain he felt was humiliating because it was Harry who had to support him. Like always. Frowning, Ron focused up ahead on Draco. The blonde moved through the dust like an old shadow; he was bent over and while he walked, the cavernous hood hiding his face would jar sharply, as if his head were connected to his shoulders by spring wire. And it made Ron no more comfortable the way Harry would cast Draco odd looks, something strange burning in the single eye. He was tempted to ask, but knew that speaking would take too much effort and that by opening his mouth he would be risking the dust entering his lungs heavily, and it stung enough now. Once they made it to wherever Draco was taking them, he could rest and get the answers to the questions which passed the time as they all kept walking.  
  
Draco had never noticed how wide the halls of the Manor were. The rumbling and tumbling of the ceiling beams had stilled for about a quarter of an hour and what was left in the dusty stillness was something like a forest of debris. Great huge beams stretched far above their heads, leaning against the walls like old growth trees. Shafts of speckled sunlight danced between gaps in the debris, cutting the side of Draco's face like a fine warm knife. Morning had risen, or the dusk was settling in. Draco couldn't know, as he didn't even know what lay in front of him with each step he took. But he regretted that he couldn't see, that he couldn't turn his head and look Ron in the face; shove Potter away and help Ron alone. A slow sneer worked across his shriveling lips and he hunched into the cloak. He wanted to get out of this silence.  
  
As Ron lifted his leg to step over a broken chair, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look, pulling Harry to a stop. Up ahead Draco turned as well.  
  
Floating over the debris was a wraith, its frosty body thin and brittle looking. It drifted from broken object to broken object, laying over it and trying in vain to pull things back together. And as it flew, its body began to break. The frost crystalized and the creature slowed lower and lower, a thin whisper like a sad memory emitting from it. The melancholy flight ended as it lay itself, an ever cold blanket, over a beautiful broken sculpture, covering the stone face like a mother embracing her child. In silence the three boys watched it die, still trying to pull the split face of the sculpture back together, finally coming to a ridged stop and simply melting away.  
  
They were moving past another great chasm in the floor when Harry looked away from Ron's unsteady footing.  
  
"What is it, Harry?" Ron craned his neck to see what Harry saw, but it tore at his cut and he looked back at the boy's face. "You hear something?"  
  
Draco snarled, the rancid breath burning out of his mouth like fluid. "Come on," he demanded.  
  
"No, I hear something," Harry said, leaving Ron against a heavy piece of what was once a bathroom wall. He picked his way over an upturned table scoured with dents, and carefully slid over a huge rounded pillar of marble.  
  
What the hell is he doing? Draco fumed inside. The Manor could begin to crumble again any second and Potter was no doubt playing hero.  
  
"What is it?" Ron called after Harry, pushing away from the tiled wall and shuffling over the floor, curiosity dulling the unpleasant feeling of movement without support. He managed weakly to get to where Harry was before he sat down again, staring at what Harry had found.  
  
Frustration fueling the panicky sense of heat swelling over his body, Draco followed them both, anger nearly spitting out of his eyes. When he saw, he scowled, shame moving his hands to tug the covering of the hood closer over his face. "What the hell is this, Potter," he growled.  
  
"We've got to help them," Harry said, pacing back and forth, the cries of the trapped house elves torturing his mind and his ears. He remembered Dobby suddenly.  
  
The elves were all in a pit where the floor had caved in, crying and screaming, climbing over each other to scrape uselessly at the sides of the floor. When Harry had come into sight, they all rushed to the side closest to him, crying out, "Young Master will save us!"  
  
He could already see where several had been crushed under wreckage from before. Feeling helpless, Harry turned to Draco. "We have to get them out."  
  
His mouth set in a firm line, Draco turned away, hearing Potter's voice plead behind him.  
  
"We can't let them die here!" He turned wildly back to the elves, shouting down, "Use your magic!"  
  
"Young Master will save us," they chanted, teeming around the wall under Harry's feet like little children.  
  
Harry's heart wrenched into his throat and he fell to his knees, leaning down to reach them pointlessly, and falling short by at least twenty lengths. Anger crowding his face, he yelled, "Malfoy, your cloak could reach them all, they have to have clothes. Only yours can free them!"  
  
Potter came at him as if making to rip the cloak away. Draco wrapped it closer around his body, frightened, the heat boiling over his brow, body soaking down in salty sour sweat. Behind Harry, Ron doubled over, opening his mouth and vomiting up a thin steaming green substance. Draco clenched his teeth. Ron's stomach was empty; he would die if they didn't get out soon.  
  
Harry rushed to Ron's side, holding him and shutting his eye to block out the increasing screams of the elves just to the side of him.  
  
"Young Master! Save us!"  
  
"Dobby," he whispered. He could almost feel their little hands scratching the wall as if it were his own back. Still holding Ron, he looked over the edge and saw their bloody fingers ripping at the solid stone, hysteria in their buggy eyes. Why didn't they just use their magic like Dobby was able? But he knew; Lucius probably learned his lesson with Dobby and must've spelled his other elves' powers useless. His gaze shot to Malfoy, his own voice thin and urgent, quickening as he heard distant creaking of stressed beams. "Malfoy! We don't have time! Set them free!"  
  
"I won't. You give the bloody things their freedom if you care so much." He put out his arms for Ron. If Potter wanted to die here, than so be it, but he wouldn't be taking Ron with him.  
  
The creaking of the beams grew louder and they all felt the air shift, even Ron weakly tilted up his face. Below in the pit the house elves all grew silent, drawing away from the wall and coming together in a tight group, their huge eyes turned upwards, their little mouths open and gasping for breath. Numerous stringy trails of blood went from the wall covered in red hand prints to where it ran from their red stained fingers. Harry stared down at them and their shallow little chests heaving, delicate ribs outlined with each rasping breath. Their eyes darted over the ceiling, green and blue and hazel orbs swiveling like marbles in their sockets, trying desperately to pinpoint the creaking above their heads. Then the creaking stopped altogether. In the ringing silence Harry could only hear their breathing.  
  
With the sound of a thousand roaring beasts, the ceiling directly above the pit exploded, pouring down in a mass wave of booming dark. Harry screamed, "Use your magic!" as all of the huge eyes focused on the same point, then were smashed out of view.  
  
Dust swallowed them up like the mouth of a giant whale. Draco threw his hand over his face, shielding his mouth and eyes. His curling lids wouldn't close and he yelled, the sound drowned by the rushing whoosh of the dust coming over them.  
  
Gloom filled the room as the dust choked it in pillowy softness. In a bed of drapes and poles, Ron's red hair stood out like the single flame in the dark on a wide hill. The hair stirred and disappeared under the dust, replaced with a white face emerging, gasping in breaths of air. Like a chick emerging from an egg, Ron wriggled and worked until he lay out on the soft bed of thick dusty drapes, tiredly casting his eyes around for the other two boys. A little ways off he could see Draco in his cloak, looking like a pile of dried crows' wings. And Harry was draped only feet away over a shredded painting, the subject's painted hand fluttering from the air and settling over his face. It was a woman's hand, Ron noted wearily, before letting his head fall back unconscious.  
  
"I can see it right up there."  
  
Harry squinted, but didn't see anything. From the floor, face squashed up against his knee, Ron coughed. Harry glanced down at him, worried. The dust coated all of them heavily, turning Malfoy's cloak gray. He glared at the Slytherin and jabbed his finger up at the gigantic hole in the ceiling, which opened up like a sky window to the higher floor, displaying a wall still intact and a magnificent arched ceiling above that. "Well, I don't. And I'm not risking our necks to climb over some makeshift bridge to get to something I can't see."  
  
"Potter, if you have to turn your head like some daft fowl to see clearly, than do it. The bloody tapestry is right there, and that is where we have to go."  
  
The words stung. He hated Malfoy, and he hated his one eye. I *am* like some stupid bird, he seethed.  
  
"Merlin, let's just do it," Ron moaned, clutching his middle. The burning pain flowered up from his stomach and he arched forward.  
  
Forgetting his anger, Harry dropped to his knees, holding a tattered piece of cloth to Ron's lips and wiping away the thick spittle trailing over them. "C'mon, Ron," he whispered, "Just keep it in." He sighed when Ron gave him a wry smile, pushing the cloth away. "That's it."  
  
"Listen, Harry. I think we should do it."  
  
His relief seeped away like retreating shadow. "What do you mean? You actually want to *try* his bloody insanity!?"  
  
At least *someone* has sense - and he's the one with the injured head, thought Draco sourly, crossing his arms and closely watching Potter's face.  
  
"Anything to get out of here, Harry. I can't breathe." He touched his throat, eyes rolling up to the opening above them. "Just because Malfoy said it doesn't mean it's wrong," he whispered so that only Harry could hear. Something glittered in his eyes. "You can't let him think you're scared."  
  
Harry instantly remembered Malfoy's comment on his vision and bristled. He whirled toward the blonde, nearly knocking Ron over, and spat, "Let's just make the fucking bridge."  
  
Ron marveled at how in a matter of minutes Harry seemed to gain ten of himself, lugging pieces of debris up the hill of loose wood and soft dust with an air of rekindled energy. Draco helped, testing Harry's trail up the mountain and feeling the sturdiness of the makeshift pathway up a makeshift slope. Seeing the two boys communicating and trading insults made Ron relax. Everything would be fine. The danger seemed less now that both Draco and Harry were yelling at each other on top of the hill, Harry motioning wildly and Draco's thin voice slicing the air cleanly. Ron leaned back, feeling useless but content with being useless. The weariness in his limbs pulled him down and he closed his eyes.  
  
"This can't work. If the path shifts, or we misstep, we go down into a gap and get smothered!" Harry thought of the elves and blanched.  
  
"Then you can bloody well rot down here; I'm not letting your fears sacrifice my life or Ron's."  
  
"Don't say his name," Harry hissed. "And I'm not afraid."  
  
"He's not yours, Potter." He smirked beneath his hood. "Possessive liar."  
  
"I'd hit you now if I could be sure I wouldn't catch the plague you've turned into."  
  
Draco went silent. He felt like killing Potter. The blind rage filled him again, and he faintly remembered the feeling of his hands around Potter's throat. "Shut up," he croaked. The fluid from his eyes ran thicker for a moment, quenching the bottom half of his eyes which his shriveling eyelids couldn't reach.  
  
Harry grimaced. "Ron goes first."  
  
Ron nearly had to be carried up the path, nicknamed the "plank" by Harry to make him feel easier. At the top he found himself almost eye level with the above floor. Stepping into Harry's hands, he was heaved upward, crawling the rest of the way onto the vast marble floor nearly untouched by debris. After him came Draco, rolling up over the side. And last, Harry.  
  
He reached out for Ron's hand, the tip of his foot just leaving the hill as the top board suddenly slipped back, disappearing into a long gap running sideways and cutting the path in two. All three of them stared down at the giant mass as it fell quietly into itself with a low murmur muffled wood, like a blanket tent dropping to the ground.  
  
The tapestry - the way out - was only feet away. Draco made for it swiftly, hand running over the frayed edge where Ron had ripped it that one night that seemed like centuries ago. Oddly, he had the need to smell it. As he lifted it to his nose, closing his eyes, he uttered a low gasp as a puff of air came from the cloth and punched into the naked half of his eyes. He threw it away from him just as Potter and Ron came up.  
  
"Not the one?"  
  
"Accusatory tone, Potter. This is the right one."  
  
"Than what are we waiting for?"  
  
Draco looked back at the tapestry, rubbing the cloth between thumb and finger, eyes dreamily fixed on the woven battle. "Nothing," he muttered as he yanked it off the wall.  
  
The lower they descended, the stronger the smell grew; the tangy sharpness of old water and moss. Ron peered through the imposing dark, broken by the thin gold of light from Draco's wand. Familiarity draped over his mind; he had been here before, but in a dream.  
  
Dost thy heart fail beat within the lightless night.  
  
Ron fell back heavily against the wall. The words had been a loud pulse in the middle of his forehead. He could hear Harry ask him if he was all right. But he wasn't. Merlin, he could remember. The hallway had been cold and wide and he had been carrying a light he had taken from Draco's room. As if drawn, he had come upon the tapestry and stumbled into it, pulling it aside, the stiff cloth slow to move. He had uncovered the ugly entrance, but didn't know. Falling and running down the stairs into the dark wetness, until his legs gave way and he was covered in cold water.  
  
The wand light bathed Ron's features in a pale glow. Draco wanted to touch his face, to hold him closely because he knew what Ron was reliving. He recalled finding the boy down in the cave, half dead in the cold water. "Ron." The name came from his mouth before his lips even moved, and it seemed that only Ron could hear him, the scared brown eyes finding him in the dark and locking onto his gaze. Potter wasn't there, it was just Ron. Ron and Draco.  
  
"Hell," Harry groaned. "Malfoy, keep that light steady and let's go on."  
  
He felt the spell break like frost into tiny pieces. The cold rushed in upon him, fighting with the sweaty heat and cursing him with chills and fever, flame and ice. Breathing became so painful he had to stop and clutch his chest. Behind him, Potter cursed. Then Potter's voice was faraway and he was being beaten on each and every side with heavy stones, giants' feet, rolling him through the air and stabbing into his side, choking him, throwing him, killing him...  
  
"Fuck - Malfoy!" Harry yelled, yanking Ron against him as the blonde keeled forward and disappeared into the dark like a phantom, sharp cries following the jaggedly thrown light. Ron's head lolled on his shoulder and so Harry ran heavily down the stairs, lugging Ron on his back and calling for Malfoy, his voice growing desperate with no audible answer. He's dead he's dead he's dead. Real fear sinking into him, Harry held Ron with one arm and reached up with the other, sighing with relief as his fingers brushed stone. It was his guide down the slippery steps, until he came into a huge empty draft of darkness, yelling with surprise as his leg was submerged into a shallow pool of ice cold murk. He yanked it out, shaking it, feeling the coating of slime through his pants. Pulling Ron around the edge of the pool, he cocked his head as he heard tiny splashes. "Malfoy?"  
  
"I'm here," he answered, voice grating. Through the dark he could hear the two figures shuffling over to the sound of his voice. "Lumos."  
  
Ron lay sleeping next to him as he watched Malfoy. He felt cruel doing it, knowing Malfoy could feel his gaze, but curious, too curious to care. "Why don't you stop moving?" he asked. The blonde's eyes flashed dangerously at him, reflected from the pool of glowing water in which lay his wand. Water magnified the light so that they all could see the huge cavern clearer.  
  
I'll melt or I'll freeze, Draco screamed in his mind. His whole body ached so horribly. He felt like an ice statue who was melting in the dark heat of a black sun.  
  
"Did your father do that to you?" He felt the smirk spear him from under the hood.  
  
"Why, now we have something in common, Potter." Draco could see him stiffen. "Both my parents are dead, and so are yours. Pity I didn't get a nifty scar to show off though. Just this." He thrust out his arm and Potter's single eye widened. The yellow color had deepened into a rustic gold, the veins swimming beneath the skin, black as pitch. Where his nails had once been it was raw and bleeding with the ebony fluid. And as Potter watched it with sick fascination, Draco found himself yet again captivated by his own decay. A clump of hair broke away from his temple suddenly and fell across his arm, a stinking chunk of scalp still clinging to the hair follicles.  
  
"What's happening to you," Harry breathed.  
  
"It's *my* version of your scar, Potter. Except *this* one doesn't last." There was a sound of rustling cloth and Draco whipped his arm back under the cloak, turning away from the light as Ron awoke, peering deliriously around him.  
  
Dream memory had faded and Ron groaned; "Why aren't we out?"  
  
"Just rest now, Ron." Harry lay a hand on his friend's arm. A confused gaze swept over him, sliding on to look deeply at Malfoy. He frowned. "Ron," he said sharply. His voice brought Ron's head around and he looked at him. "C'mon."  
  
With his arm for a pillow, Ron lay still for a long time, steadying his breathing and listening for Harry to do the same. He suspected Harry would fight sleep and waited anxiously for hours before the boy finally succumbed to his own exhaustion. Ron climbed to his feet quietly. His face was still choked with dust. Hands out in front of him, he came to a pool, dipping his hands into the water and dashing it onto his face. When he stood up, tucking a loose end of the bandage back into place, he noticed something white floating in the middle of the pool, adorned with ripples marring its white surface. He let out his breath, looking upwards and seeing through a small hole up above the moon, staring down like a heavy blind eye into the cave. Wonderingly, he knelt again and touched the reflection, watching it dance. As the moon swirled in the water, a cold feeling gripped his heart as his fingers curled around his left arm. The moon shone with the bare light that it had on the night Riddle....  
  
"A sickle for your thoughts."  
  
He didn't even turn. The moon continued its dance, weaving under silver streaks of water.  
  
Merlin, how he wanted to touch him. The compelling urge almost drove him into a frenzy and behind the half cover of his lids he saw his own fingers sliding through Ron's fiery hair and him dragging the freckled face back so that he may swallow the boy's lips and taste that lost sweetness. But... now he would not approach the one whom he wanted so much. The feeling flowed out of him, just like the sick heated infection did. Though the river of emotions hit a strong barrier, and it was Draco's own consciousness of how he must appear.  
  
Ron looked up at the moon again, smiling faintly. The last time he had heard those words, he had been so different. Unconsciously his fingers closed over his left arm and he bowed his head, hearing a faint sigh from behind him. Now he turned, looking at Draco, just a dark shadow in the moon's pale shade. He stayed that way. Ron couldn't tell if Draco was looking at him or not, and suddenly he took a step towards the other boy, frowning when Draco regressed back into the dark. "Draco?" he said quietly. The boy shrunk from his voice. Ron was reminded of the wraith and the jaunty way it had moved, half dying, half struggling. He reached a hand forward, hovering over Draco's chest. A rotting smell wafted through the air, but he ignored it. There was a tight feeling in his heart and Ron's eyes drifted to his hand, hovering closer to the blonde's chest. Draco had frozen, and Ron could hear wheezing in the cave's quiet. His own breath staggered when his hand made contact with the cloth. It was warm and moist.  
  
Draco shook beneath the cloak, the wet heat pressing closer and closer as Ron's hand smoothed over his chest, coming to rest directly over his heart. A quiet sob slipped from his mouth as Ron flexed his fingers.  
  
The dreamy gaze in his eyes flashed and he was caught by the sight of his fingers splayed over Draco's chest. Raw fear dropping like a veil of rain over his eyes, he slowly bent his index finger, feeling the beat of Draco's heart. As the finger curled, Draco uttered a breathy cry, body convulsing. Ron let out his breath deeply, a strange feeling clouding his chest. His eyes snapped wide to his arm, grazing over the bare white patch. For only an instant of memory he felt the skull's eyes glaring back.  
  
His legs flew from beneath him, and suddenly he was caught in Ron's arms, a gust of rotting air blowing up from his body, heat rolling beneath his skin, the liquid pouring from everywhere and sticking hotly to the cloth of his cloak as his body crushed against the redhead. Panic flooded his mind and he ripped away from the other boy, hobbling from the moon's ghostly illumination, feeling brown eyes following, his heart thundering in his ears.  
  
~*~  
  
He could not sit, nor lie down. His legs felt like sticks filled with biting termites. Inside his mouth his tongue lay bloated and black, a dead fish caught halfway down a man's throat. Once fingernails now left the skin bare and raw and burning with insane pain that streaked up his arms like shots of wire. But what hurt most was that his regressed, dead eyelids did not allow him to cower from the sight of his hair falling in clumps from his rotten scalp, plopping into the pools of water as he paced the cave with a pungent odor of fetid meat. At one time during the night's slow turning, Draco turned and threw himself into the curving wall of stone, bashing his broken fists against the unyielding surface, slicking it with his own black blood and the oily yellow liquid which he cursed with sobs. Frustration hurt almost as much as the physical pain, driving him mad and he felt that if he didn't escape he would explode.  
  
As Draco rolled along the walls in agony, lashing out at visions of Lucius' dead smirk condemning his only heir, he at once came to the furthest reach of the cave, crawling into a tight space and screaming as best he could, tasting the sour spittle bathing the bloated beast that was his tongue. And as he screamed, he pounded his fists against the ceiling. While the pain boomed when each blow struck, he noticed something else, though unwillingly through his uncovered eyes.  
  
Loose soil.  
  
A/N: *guilty grin* Believe it or not, I've been doing a lot of editing. One more, folks!  
  
~*Villain*~ 


	15. To Each His Own

Chapter Fifteen: To Each His Own   
  
He had been replaying the first Christmas at Hogwarts over and over again, smiling at the real feel of Mrs. Weasly's red Gryffindor sweater as he slid it over his head. Harry turned over, grunting when a sharp stone scratched his side, ripping him back to cold, wet reality. He opened his bleary eye to try and shove it away, then noticed Malfoy scrambling over the ground towards him, the hood thrown back. At first, he let the scream bubble up in his throat, but stopped at the look in Malfoy's naked eyes.  
  
"Potter, get up!"  
  
Harry's eye darted to Ron and he hissed at Malfoy, dragging the hood back up to cover the view he himself would not look at. He could smell what it looked like well enough. Drawing his hand back and groaning into his palms, he sat up straighter, arching his back. Malfoy was nearly bouncing beside him and so he looked over at the shadowed face. "What the bloody hell is it?"  
  
"I've found the damned way out!" Draco shaped the words carefully, his teeth twanging with every word, and cutting into his tongue. But he ignored it, the excitement nearly tearing him apart. "Wake Ron up, we're getting out tonight!"  
  
He immediately snapped to attention at Ron's name and caught the last of the sentence. "Tonight?" he repeated faintly as Draco grabbed the stone wall to get to his feet. Forgetting himself, Harry rose and yanked the boy up, turning and going to Ron, shaking the redhead awake. In moments he was grinning into sleepy brown eyes, the freckled palm going to rest against the soiled bandages.  
  
The other two were already making their way to the far side of the cave as Ron pulled himself up. A scab was struggling over the wound on his head. He knew this because he felt it split as he rubbed his eyes. Gasping quietly at that quick sobering, Ron climbed to his feet, still groggy. He tried to call to Harry, but his voice was drowned out in a long and deep yawn, tightening in his chest. But it felt too good.  
  
Ron came up behind them and Harry turned to help his friend forward, his smile feeling uncanny. "Ron, Malfoy's found a bloody way out! In this little crevice there's loose soil on the top, so that means we can get through." He paused, bending over to crane his neck under the rock. "It looks like we could dig our way out, but Malfoy thinks he can blast it." Harry looked uncertainly at said boy, unsure. "But we could just dig our way out," he repeated.  
  
While Potter ranted to Ron, Draco was in the crevice of rock, prodding the ceiling with his wand and loosening more moist soil. Careful not to get it in his bare eyes, he put his head to the dirt and listened. Faintly, very faintly he could hear tiny whispers of sound. He leaned back. "It's raining up there," he said with bewilderment. The other two bent down to look at him. He stared back, thankful for the shadows. He could tell they were thinking what he was thinking.  
  
"Water," Ron sighed.  
  
They had all come back from the crevice, Harry pushing Ron behind him so that Draco could use all of the power he could to blast it without harming the redhead. Ron, as annoyed as he was, managed to get a clear view over Harry's crown to watch Draco approach the niche, wand raised.  
  
Lifting his arm hurt. It made the blood struggle more to move, to circulate throughout his body and he could feel the pins and needles threading their way through the thirsting veins. Grimacing, Draco stepped forward, not looking back at Potter or Ron, but aware of their eyes on him. Letting their gazes wash over him, he focused inside his body, focused on the core of the oily, boiling heat which had sprouted inside of him. He fought through the yellow liquid, through the stench, and through the agony to pinpoint the greatest area of pressure. It was right in the middle of his chest. His eyes rolled up and he jabbed his wand forward, the core of tightly bound heat becoming more intense, pushing up through his lungs to burst out of his mouth in a sticky mass of yellow. Behind he heard Ron cry out and Harry blanche, but he kept his focus, building the frustration of the heat, building the rage that boiled beneath his crown, building the pain up and up until his whole body wracked with jagged shudders, breath puffing out through his mouth and baking the dead black tongue which lolled from between his lips. And it was from those multiple sources that he yelled, thrusting the wand point into the crevice and launching a shot of energy.  
  
With the sound of a flooding river, the crevice collapsed, shooting out a rage of dirt that covered the ground, slopping over into the calm pools of water and turning the cool liquid to thick mud. Ron and Harry ran forward, pawing through the dirt to find Draco standing waist deep in the aftermath of his single spell. After Harry had checked that the boy still breathed, he ran forward to the devastated crevice, looking up into blinding wet light and yelling at the top of his lungs. Supporting Draco, Ron came after him, wincing from the intense gray light, the cloud of dirt thick and smelling of earth. The three of them crawled onto the shelf of the crevice and stood, the upper half of their bodies bathed in blessedly cool rain.  
  
~*~   
  
The other two boys felt very far away as Draco looked at the Manor's skeleton left smoldering in dust clouds and distant crashes of remaining walls. Its dark form stretched out before him like a storm cloud that had lain over the ground. The cave had been farther reaching than all of them had thought. Draco couldn't make out any details of the wreckage, only recognizing a dark shadow, turned ugly orange from the yellow liquid pumping over his eyes. As for the Manor itself, he didn't feel any sadness towards it, nor regret. As he stood there, wrapped tightly in the moist black cloak, he reflected on how the demolished Manor represented his own life. The house had always been living to him, living and breathing with some dormant soul pulsing in the walls. And as those walls lay shattered, Draco felt shattered, ripped, destroyed within himself. Suddenly he felt angry towards the desolate ruins, towards the memories that vied for his attention. The heat was seeping back out his pores, defying the cool veil of rain. He glanced down at his wrist, lip twisting. He could see the tiny rivulets of oily yellow running from his skin and it sickened him all over again. Unwillingly visions of what his face must appear like crashed through his mind and he wished to shut his eyes, just shut the sight away. But his lids were gone. He wanted to scratch his eyes out so that they could not see, but his fingernails were gone and the flesh left behind was soft, shriveled black and rotten. To breathe he must open his mouth and let his slimy stinking tongue trail out from between his teeth, pulling on the back of his throat, souring the air. He began to hate the Manor, blaming it. But his thoughts were broken as Ron and Potter came up on either side of him to look over the wreckage, and he was glad that the rain masked some of the decaying smell lingering over him.  
  
Malfoy Manor had always been such a poisonous and lethal place in Harry's mind, a huge labyrinthian cavern ready to swallow him and anybody else up. Now it lay for what must have been miles, like some great dead dragon half sunk in wasted land. He glanced sidelong at Malfoy, noticing how the brim of the deep hood quivered. Then he glanced back at the hill stretching upwards behind them, at the top a gnarled old tree. He wondered what was on the other side with a tired, vague excitement. On the other side of Malfoy, he could hear Ron's heavy breathing, steady in the rain.  
  
Ron only wanted to run from it; as if the Manor would rise in some evil form from its remains and crush them all. They were so close, and there was a dagger of fear running into his spine. "Let's leave," he whispered. Something was going wild inside of him, a blaring alarm of warning. He wanted to get out of this place now. The bandage on his head felt like a band of lead, pressing into his skull, trying to anchor him here forever. "Merlin. Let's just get out of here."  
  
"Lucius," Draco rasped. The sound of his voice was thin and dark, slurring as his tongue bobbed wetly against his chin. That name made the heat arc into a crescendo, and the oily yellow liquid seemed to burst from his skin. "I hate you." He was tired, heavy. His words were sluggish and slow. Through a yellow haze he could see Ron's face, the red hair now an ugly orange and his skin as rotten yellow looking as Draco's. He rolled his eyes, aware of the oily thickness and how it clogged the edges of his eyeballs, as if fighting to overtake his vision. A sense of urgency chased over his skin, and the heat felt more centered, his breath sweating, evaporating the rain, souring over his black tongue. He became impatient, his hand curling at his sides, lips twitching as where his nails had once been split and throbbed.  
  
"We can just get up over that rise and we'll be out," said Harry.  
  
His limbs wanted desperately to be touching the grass at his feet. They were dragging him down; he was tired, fatigued. Shocks of pain laced his scalp, little needling stabs of agony that felt like his skin was splitting. Suddenly the rain's quiet descent flooded his ears like gunshots. The shocks over his head grew worse and he raised his hands to touch his brow, the bleeding split fingertips swollen and festering against his stinging scalp.  
  
Ron didn't notice Draco lift his hand. He had looked back at the slope, next to him Harry craning his neck as if he could see over the tall hill. He didn't realize when Draco took his hand away from his face and stared at the thick roll of skin that had peeled off into it. And he didn't see as Draco began tearing at his face, silently, the robes stiff to comply to the boy's movements muffled by the muted rain.  
  
The skin that couldn't be his stuck fast to his hand, burning onto them, stained with charred looking black blood, crusted and smelling, stinking of hot fetid rot. Draco tore at his face, black rage spilling with the black blood, the center of pressure in his chest coiling and tightening, pushing out his ribs, spearing them into his stomach and forcing a bubble of blood to spread up his throat and flood his mouth, dropping out and down his chin in black and rotten red hunks, bursting with a released odor as they struck the ground. He coughed sharply, spraying his hands with the dead blood, sharply tearing the middle of his tongue, the blood swarming the wound, mixing with heavy black liquid as it oozed from the break, burning like acid, eating at his teeth. His tongue pulled viscously on the back of his throat, as if sucking its black venom from his insides, pouring it out as the wound tore, his whole tongue expanding as it broke, than bursting inside his mouth, black acid scouring his throat.  
  
The rage boiled up over his brow as the yellow liquid seeped over and under his peeling skin, pushing it, skinning his face as Draco's teeth cracked and his tongue lay shriveled on the wet ground. Dead grass, a moist yellow, marked where the acid had dripped from his mouth, a burned black trail of charred skin reaching over his cheeks and down his chin where it had drained or eaten through his cheek. And the pain reached a peak, the rain pounding him, shredding him. Draco dug his fingers into his palm, a voiceless scream filling his mind as the skin over his hands tore like paper, spilling more of the black acid, more of the yellow. Anger, centered and fierce shot into his eyes, rupturing the black veins and burning the sockets. Panic teemed his nerves and he bent double, coughing, coughing so that his head would explode every time. And his swollen fingers, covered in acid from his own hands, fluttered over his face, mouth frozen open as he brushed something smooth and hard over his forehead, where all the skin was gone.  
  
Something about that hill was nagging him. He had stepped a little ways up it, shielding his eyes from he rain and tilting his head back to gaze up at the tree, his mind searching, thinking, remembering. Up further Harry was nearly bent over, his hand threading through the grass. Ron could hear him call back without looking round, but couldn't understand him through the increased rain. Shrugging, Ron began to turned around and call Draco up, but paused as Harry stood, shaking his head like a dog, a black lock of hair falling into his face. Then the boy turned around and grinned at Ron, the first openly happy grin Ron had seem from anyone in a long time. He held his head, where his cut had begun to ache from the cold. Just starting to take a step, he looked up and noticed that Harry was running down at him, mouth thrown open. Ron lowered his hand, eyebrows wrinkling together. "Harry-"   
  
He could see Ron saying his name, almost hear it. Harry slipped down the grassy slope, shouting.  
  
Something hot and tight had wrapped around his neck and Ron's fingers flew to grip a steaming limb, clawing at it desperately as he gagged for air. He could feel the heavy cloak's hood against his cheek, and he cried out as a slim fingered hand darted at his face, feeling hot pokers stabbing at his eye, trying to tear them out. He threw his head every which way, the air trapped in his lungs trying to fight its way out while his tongue lolled. Then he felt the fingers moving up, rain blurring his sight as the bandage was ripped from his head and thrown onto the grown where it lay in a small patch of dead grass. His legs kicked and he threw his hips, twisting and fighting, gasping as Draco's fingers found his wound and dug into it. Blood ran down his face, dripping off his open lips and into his mouth. It tasted bitter, and Ron felt himself being pushed down, breath like fire scorching his ear, something hot and thick melting the skin on his neck. The ground was cold and he kicked again, gagging harder, teeth gnashing as if to catch the air he needed to breathe. And then he heard the words, whispered like they were inside his own head, wrapping around his consciousness. His eyes widened as he heard them.  
  
"I can feel myself dying..."  
  
He threw himself onto Malfoy, hands tangling in the stiff wet cloak and yanking, throwing the boy backwards, watching him roll over and lie still, grabbing Ron and looking back over his shoulder as Malfoy rose off the ground, yellow eye dripping black tears while steam rose off of his shoulders. Blood bathed the boy's face, still buried under the hood, and Harry could only truly see his eyes, separating the rain and picking him out. Frantically he scrambled up the incline, shoving Ron ahead of him, watching as Malfoy crouched down like an animal and began to claw up the hill, his bleeding fingers gripping the wet grass, his eyes fixed on Harry's face, the rage palpable and Harry remembered in the Manor when Malfoy had gone off. Breath catching, he hauled Ron faster, dragging the redhead up as he faltered, swooning from the blood cascading down his face, rushing to the ground as rain bathed the wound.  
  
Ron felt the ground level out, and his head spun. Lightheaded, he fell against the tree, his back striking the bark roughly. His eyes rolled up through the rain and he saw Harry suddenly with his fists up, and something coming up over the rise of the hill looking like a black beast, a wolf. It sprang at Harry and knocked him to the ground. Ron tried to move, his fingers running over the crags and indentations in the wood, and he heard a sound. Looking up, he saw a bird flying over. Squinting through the rain, shading his eyes he saw it was.... a pheasant.  
  
Harry felt the fist connect with his jaw and he dropped like a stone after having managed to get up. And without a second to breathe, Malfoy was on him, beating his face, eyes never blinking, never moving, never letting his face go. Finally Malfoy drew back his fist, and Harry saw the black liquid seeping through his fingers. Green eye moving back to Malfoy's face, Harry saw the eyes turn away as the black fist hit his throat, shoving him back into the grass.  
  
The rain came down in icy sweeps and far away waves of an ocean crashed onto the shore, and further, the sky was blue.  
  
They looked at each other, both covered in their own blood while Harry lay stunned but breathing between them. Draco's chest heaved up and down, the cloak swinging heavily around his ankles, and he watched Ron's face, the rancid breath clouding before him and blurring his sight of the redhead's eyes. And Ron looked back, the wound on his head still pumping blood with the help of the numbing rain. Then he began to walk forward, his steps heavy in the grass, rain dripping rapidly from the curls of his red hair. His gaze held Draco's, they held each other.  
  
He fell to his knees, his head thrown back, breath sweeping in and out of his mouth as rain cooled the mad heat beyond his lips. The hood fell away from his face and he could feel the rain stripping him, washing away the blood. And then he saw Ron standing above him, a halo of wet red hair surrounding his face and sad brown eyes. Draco shivered, looking down at the ground. And he felt a hand reach down and touch his chin. He felt a hand resting on his chest, right above his heart. But he didn't need any reason; he lifted his face and Ron was close to him. He stared into his eyes. "Tell me my name."  
  
His hands spread over Draco's shoulders and pushed over his back, pulling the boy into his embrace. He felt Draco's face pressed into his shirt, small hands hesitantly resting on his knees. And Ron gently lay his left hand on the back of Draco's head, and pressed it there firmly, feeling the outline of Draco's eyes through to his chest. They were still wide open. Closing his eyes, he suddenly gripped the smaller boy tightly, his lashes shoving into the tops of his cheeks as he felt Draco struggle, shoulders pushing at him hard. He held tighter, laying his head over Draco's bare scalp, his arms tightening. The hands resting on his knees, clawing at him frantically, reached up to brush his face, brush his lips, before falling limply to the wet grass. Ron drew away from the staring eyes, those blank staring eyes, and lay him down on the grass. The rain pooled in the eyes. Ron took an icy still limb and drew it up, pausing to look into those eyes. Then he whispered, "Draco," and covered them from the rain.  
  
*~FIN~*  
  
~*Villain*~ 


End file.
